


Babygate

by shamelessnameless



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Intimate Partner Violence, M/M, Mpreg, Open Relationships, Past Abuse, Postpartum Depression, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-10-28 03:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 83,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17779919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessnameless/pseuds/shamelessnameless
Summary: There's an unexpected baby in Harry's belly and Draco isn't surprised; this is just their kind of luck.Or: a story of how Draco and Harry got their shit together.





	1. Chapter 1

The first pain Harry feels is like a sharp knife to his gut and he wakes up with it, flailing wildly when the unexpected weight around his middle makes it impossible at first to get up. Draco makes a grumpy sound next to him, turns over and keeps sleeping; Harry isn’t surprised. Draco slept through the aerobatic show to commemorate the end of 2nd World War a few weeks back.

Harry spells the lights on and stares at his belly that was flat when he went to sleep and is now big and swollen, a few dark veins running through it. It looks undeniably pregnant and for a moment Harry’s mind is a complete blank and then another contraction tears through him, making him whimper and gasp.

For a second Harry is frozen and then he is screeching, Draco shooting up in bed next to him, wand in hand before he is fully awake.

“Harry what –“ he starts to say and then sees Harry’s belly and all color drains from his already pale face.

“Oh my freaking fuck,” Draco says, “Harry – why – why are things like this your goddamn _life_?”

Harry promptly bursts into tears.

“God, no, shit,” Draco says and reaches out and slips his hand in Harry’s hair, “I’m so sorry, Harry, I just mean – why does shit like this always happen to you?”

“What’s happening to me?” Harry says; another wave of pain runs through him and he clutches at Draco’s forearms. Draco’s still staring down at Harry’s belly and when he looks up he’s frowning fiercely, clearly thinking.

“Dra _co_ ,” Harry presses out with another wave of pain; Draco reaches out to him then, runs his hands over Harry’s belly, picks up his wand and does a number of tiny, complicated flicks until the tip of his wand lights up green.

“Pretty sure you are having a baby,” Draco says, nonchalant, and casts a _tempus_. “Just breathe, Harry,” he says softly, “you’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

Draco gets up and gets dressed in under a minute which must be a record for him before helping Harry to sit on the couch. He firecalls France’s foremost medical center, the Hôpital Magique Générale or HMG (which Ron found hilarious when he heard it the first time), holds a quick conversation in French and then goes back to Harry, face determined.

“Lean on me,” Draco says, “I rather not use any spell on you right now, so I can’t cast a featherlight and carry you.”

“Draco,” Harry says, feeling dizzy with the pain now, “are you sure it’s going to be human baby?”

“I promise you it’s not going to be an alien,” Draco says, amused, and cradles Harry close and Harry clutches at him because the floo hurts as if Harry is splitting apart.

30 minutes later, he knows all about it; how male wizards might experience a _graviditate occultatum,_ a pregnancy that remains literally unnoticeable until the day of birth. It’s a condition that likely developed in the 12th century when male pregnancy was for a short while outlawed and pregnant male wizards hunted and killed like prey; today it is almost completely non-existent with only 1.3 % male pregnancies remaining undetected until labor starts. The figure is slightly higher in conflict areas and Harry thinks back to the last year, his constant worry for Hermione due to her own pregnancy complications, the constant Auror protection Draco had to live with ever since the whole Greyback affair, the constant feeling of not being doing anything with his life, all the stress Harry was under and shit. _Shit_.

Harry is having the first _graviditate occultatum_ pregnancy in France in over 773 years. Draco is a rock next to him, calmly discussing how to proceed in his fast, fluent French that Harry has no hope of following while contraction after contraction hits him. He’s already dilated 7 centimeters and nobody knows for sure what to do; male natural births are usually only possible because of the potions to be taken to manage the pain and blood loss, but any magic seems to interfere negatively with Harry’s contractions and the healers are still in frantic floo calls to St. Mungo’s and other medical centers all over Europe, but it appears as if Harry just has to buckle up and go through this.

It feels as if his ribs are cracked, as if his belly is being ripped wide open, as if the labor channel his body formed for him is on fire. Draco explained what was happening to Harry’s ass in a calm voice, running his hands over Harry’s protruding belly soothingly, but Harry is still pretty hung up on the simple fact that he has to press a baby out of a place that sometimes even struggles to take Draco’s dick.

“I can’t do this,” Harry says after an hour and he’s panicking now, “Draco, I didn’t even know wizards could get pregnant, I can’t-“

“Shh, I know, and I am so sorry,” Draco interrupts him immediately, “but you can, Harry, you’re perfectly able to do this,” he says, so quiet and so sure. He’s sitting next to Harry’s head, rubbing a wet flannel over Harry’s forehead and down his sweaty neck and chest.

“I don’t even want kids,” Harry says, terrified, “please just make it stop, Draco, please.”

“I can’t, darling,” Draco says, and trails feather light kisses all over his face, “you don’t have to raise the baby just because you give birth to it, but you kind of do have to give birth to it now. We’ll talk about it, okay?”

“We’re not even,” Harry starts and has to stop because this is painful and if Draco would be willing Harry would change it in a heartbeat, “we’re not even in a committed relationship and –“

“It doesn’t matter Harry,” Draco says, soothingly.

“Can you call Ron and Hermione?” Harry says pitifully, and Draco nods, stroking Harry’s hair back from his sweaty forehead again. 

“I already did,” he says, so very calm, “they wanted to bring Rose over to Molly and then they are coming here to see you later. You just have to press out a baby first while your healer is freaking out over the floo.” The last sentence is delivered so pointedly that Harry is pretty sure it’s not directed at him, but to the flurry of activity somewhere behind Harry. 

“What if it isn’t even yours?” Harry asks, and the question only half breaks his heart.

“It’s definitely mine. Shit like this only happens to us,” Draco answers completely unconcerned. Harry’s healers are coming back then, and Harry has no hope whatsoever to follow the French, so he tunes it out and trusts that Draco will let him know if there’s anything to know.

There isn’t; Harry just has to push.

Draco coaches him through it, calmly explain when Harry has to push, when he has to rest, how to breathe. His voice is steady and Harry clings to it like a lifeline, begs him to keep talking every time he stops.

Harry’s freaking out for real after eight hours when there’s still no baby and Harry just can’t do it any more, is so completely exhausted that he can’t do anything else than cry. Draco is in a heated debate with Hermione and some HGM healers on what to do next; Harry didn’t want anyone seeing him like this at first, but Ron has been propping him up to make pushing easier for the past 30 minutes when Harry just didn’t have the strength left to do it himself, Hermione has made him sip water laced with a drop of pepper-up every few minutes and held his hand when Draco made floocall after floocall trying to connect to a very distant Black cousin of his that lives in Syria and that Draco thinks had a _graviditate occultatum_ in his extended family a few years back.

When Draco comes back, his hair is tied up which always means business.

“Harry, we’re standing up,” he says, “Ron will hold you and Healer Dolpin and I will extract the baby.”

“No,” Harry chokes out. His voice is almost completely gone; his eyelids are so swollen from crying he can barely see. The pain is so much worse than crucio; Draco went very white in the face when Harry told him and ordered Hermione to lace Harry’s water with another drop of pain potion; Harry can’t say it helped.

“They’ll use a simple gravitation spell that shouldn’t hurt you or the child,” Hermione says, and her eyes are pleading and shiny, “but you need to be up for it for or the baby can’t slide down, Harry.”

Harry’s about to say no again but Draco is already moving him, and Harry has no way of fighting him off; Draco is taller and stronger on the best of days and it’s not Harry’s best day at all. Ron is holding on to him and Harry panics then for real, kicking and pleading to stop, stop, _stop –_

“Stop,” Draco barks and the hands holding Harry down vanish; Harry’s only half sitting up.

“Harry,” Draco says and cups his face, “please don’t be scared. You trust me. I promise this will help you.”

“No holding down,” Harry begs; everything behind Draco is hazy, but he thinks there might be people there willing to hurt him.

“Okay, Harry,” Draco says, straightens up so the hazy figures behind Draco disappear behind his back, “I’m going to swing your legs over the bed and you can hold on to that bar over your head,” Draco makes a quick motion with his wand at that and creates a perfect thin wooden bar, “and you’ll spread your legs for me and I’ll get the baby. Can you do that? For me?”

“Okay,” Harry says, because Draco wants him to; he can do it for Draco.

Everything feels white-hot with pain when Harry stands up and Ron steadies his waist and then Draco is incanting something and Harry almost blacks out and then he hears a piercing cry of a newborn and that’s when he starts to cry so hard he cannot breathe.

Harry will read much later that only an expected 31 % of men survived their _graviditate occultatum_ pregnancies in the 12th century due to complications during birth; most of them died from blood loss or from their families using potions to help them which killed the babies and later them. The gravity spell is an old one and its development significantly improved survival rates; Draco’s cousin who knew about it is the reason Harry is still alive. 

Draco is helping Harry lay back down, soothing him, holding him close.

“You did so well,” he whispers, “I’m so proud my darling, my sweetheart, you can rest now. I’ve got you, just rest.”

“Hurts,” Harry says and it’s true; his whole body feels as if it’s been through a meat grinder.

“I’ll give you a pain potion in a moment,” Draco promises and kisses him. 

“Baby?” Harry asks next and Draco gets him in a somewhat sitting position and then there’s a naked, slimy newborn on Harry’s chest and the second the infant lets out a pitiful squeal, milk shoots in Harry’s nipples and he shrieks, because fuck, _what is that?_

“Shit, Harry, I’m sorry,” Draco hurries to say and steadies the grip Harry has on the baby, runs his other hand over Harry’s nipples soothingly, “it’s completely natural; you’ll be able to nurse the baby that way. We’ll talk about it all once you feel better.”

Draco repositions Harry’s arms carefully, nudges the baby’s mouth to one of his nipples and the baby – their baby, Harry thinks, completely dazed – starts sucking after a moment and it feels fucking wonderful, feels fucking comforting and Harry can barely get out the last question he wants to ask before finally, blissfully blacking out.

“What is it?” he whispers, but Draco urges him to drink water first, nudges the straw against Harry’s lips until Harry drinks some of it; it’s a pain potion for sure.

“It’s a boy, sweetheart,” he says, and Harry doesn’t even know if he would have preferred a girl; everything is too much.

“I’ll hold him for you,” Draco says and sits down sidewise on Harry’s bed, “sleep, Harry. I’ve got you both.”

Harry knows he does and so he sleeps.

 

\--

 

“I really need to go and do a ton of shopping,” Draco muses five days later. Their son is still nameless and exclusively dressed in hand me downs from Rose; Draco has been clearly reluctant to leave Harry’s side, but Harry also had a full-blown panic attack when he did go back to the apartment on their baby’s second day in this world to get some things.

Harry can’t explain it, but his magic is drained, and he can barely do a _lumos_ right now and he’s so tired and he’s got a baby to protect and he needs Draco to keep them safe. He knows it’s irrational; he even went so far to say _constant vigilance_ to Draco at one point and he knows how much Draco loathes Mad-Eye Moody.

“You tell me what to buy,” Ron says very intently, “and I’ll buy it. I’ll buy it all; I’ll buy even more of it if you want.”

Blaise snorts derisively; they’ve been in a naming-slash-godfather war from the moment they first saw each other this morning.  

Harry thinks it’s pretty entertaining; Hermione is considering divorce. Pansy rolled their eyes at all of them and is refusing to hold the baby, claiming that she’d rather not drop something that’s important to Draco, because she still remembers what he did after she accidentally set fire to his toy dragon when they were seven.

“Thanks, Ronald,” Draco says, very earnestly. He’s done a far better job of taking them seriously than Harry.

“Oh, come on,” Blaise says, “as if he knows what to buy. He probably has never even heard the word color palette.”

“Neither have I,” Harry says, and Draco grins at him, leaning down to kiss him.

“You’re fucking besotted, Malfoy,” Pansy says.

“You really do need to move now,” Hermione says, smiling down at the baby she picked up when she came in from work 30 minutes ago. She has yet to give it back. “Your flat is too tiny. Now he can sleep with you, but in a few months, you’ll be dying to have a second bedroom.”

Draco replies something about the housing market, but Harry’s mostly dozing after, loses the thread of the conversation quickly enough. He’s only awake a few hours at most. It stings that he can barely hold the baby up under his own strength; Draco holds their son to his chest for nursing most of the time.

Draco is running a hand through Harry’s hair an indeterminate amount later which is shiny and fresh due to one of the many hair and body freshening spells Draco knows. Usually Harry makes fun of them, but he’s reconsidering; there’s no way in hell he could shower right now and it’s nice to at least feel clean.

“Harry,” Draco says softly, and Harry tries to blink his eyes open; he is so bloody tired. “If I go now to do some shopping will you be alright with Hermione here?”

“Where’s Ron going?” Harry whispers.

“Helping me do some shopping,” Draco says softly. Harry’s pretty sure they had this conversation earlier already, but he can’t be sure without asking.

“And Blaise and Pansy?” he says; better to cover all his basics.

“Going back to London,” Draco says and kisses his eyelids that have drooped closed again, “it will all be fine, Harry. Rest for a little and I’ll be back before you even wake up, ok?”

“Love you,” Harry breathes out. They don’t really say that casually, but Harry feels like it.

“God, Harry, I love you so much,” Draco breaths and Harry sleeps.

 

\--

 

Draco is indeed back when Harry wakes up, and he has indeed done all the shopping for things infants usually need.

Their son looks a lot like Draco; Draco explained to Harry why he had fair features even though Harry’s hair couldn’t be blacker if he tried; something about being the heir to the Malfoy line and defining physical characteristics transmitted through blood magic something, but Harry didn’t get it and didn’t ask again; he doesn’t exactly mind. It eases the nervousness he feels when he entertains the possibility of the baby not being Draco’s; of the baby being the son of one of the casual side-fucks Draco entertains, who sometimes fuck Harry with Draco.

“I have never allowed them to come in you,” Draco said dismissively; Draco’s been sure from the start that the baby was theirs.

Hermione and Ron say goodbye the evening they take their baby home with firm instructions to firecall them immediately once they finally chose a name and Draco climbs topless into bed with Harry and the baby, rearranges them until Harry and the newborn are both resting against him. Skin on skin contact is apparently very important in caring for infants as are other things Harry never heard about.

It’s making Harry feel extremely ashamed to know so little about babies; Draco has tried hard not to lecture too much, because he knows that Harry feels like a buffoon who cannot even name their child. Hermione said it was normal to be in over the head for the first few days; but Harry is feeling as if he is failing this whole being a Dad thing nonetheless.

“Harry,” Draco says and Harry’s pretty sure he asked him something and Harry didn’t hear because of his little mental breakdown. He looks up at Draco and sees concerned eyes and so he snuggles closer and kisses his throat.

Draco said not feeling perfectly was only to be expected when you didn’t even expect a baby to happen in your life and having to go through labor the way Harry had to go through it and Harry believes him, but it’s still horrible for him that he can’t love their child as naturally and as immediately as Draco loves their baby.

“We need to talk names,” Draco says, “if we don’t have one soon, they will give him a temporary one and it will be a true pain in the ass to get it redacted again.”

“Ronald,” Harry says, and Draco laughs quietly.

“I’m sorry but I just can’t do it,” he says and Harry grins.

“I’m sure there are Malfoy customs for this,” Harry says.

Draco shudders. “Yeah, let’s not follow them,” he says.  

“I like Grayson,” Harry says after a moment.

“A nice name,” Draco says, “but very British. Very Muggle too.”

“Bla bla,” Harry says, and Draco huffs out a laugh.

“I mean we know how this will go, don’t we?” Draco says, his voice low and amused, “we’ll end up picking something you like because I can’t say no to you if my life depended on it. So, if you do like Grayson, it’s Grayson.”

“I’m not quite sure,” Harry says, grinning now, “can you give me some more input?”

“Arledge,” Draco says.

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry laughs, “how about Miles?”

“Bromley,” Draco counters without missing a beat.

“Kit,” Harry says.

“Oleander,” Draco says, “or maybe Leland.”

“What the fuck is that second one even?” Harry says, “Aubrey.”

The baby squeaks then; Draco groans.

“We are not letting a one-week old infant decide on his name,” Draco says, and then adds, much softer, “James.”

“I was thinking about it,” Harry admits, “I was also thinking about Sirius or Remus or Albus or Severus, but it’s maybe a bit too much baggage.”

“Severus would kill himself if he knew you had named a child after him,” Draco says, “I’m pretty sure it will trigger a curse.”

“Haha,” Harry says, as dry as he can, “how about Noel?”

“Not the biggest fan,” Draco admits, “but if you want something French, I do like Naël. Or Timothée.”

“Elias,” Harry says, “Eames, Easton, Éomer –“

“No Lord of the Rings,” Draco says, pained.

“This is impossible,” Harry concludes, “isn’t there a spell to decide for us?”

“Not without options,” Draco says, “one day I’ll draw up a magic curriculum for hopeless cases like you who don’t know _anything_ about magical theory.”

“Let’s call him curriculum,” Harry says and Draco snorts.

“I have an honest to god proposal for you,” Draco says, “Ramsey.”

“I do like that one,” Harry admits.

“It was the name of one of the Potters sometime around 1600,” Draco says, “he carried on marrying a Black; they didn’t have children. If someone asks you, it has both a connection to your father and Sirius, but it’s not been in use and therefore not as biased as – other choices.”

“How do you even know this shit?” Harry says, touched.

“Studying genealogy was a big part of my pre-Hogwarts _curriculum,_ ” Draco says and Harry snorts and kisses him.

“I want to propose a second name,” Harry says and waits until Draco looks at him, “Lucius.”

“No,” Draco says, immediately.

“Draco,” Harry begins but –

“I appreciate the gesture,” Draco says, “but – I – I just don’t want it.”

“Okay,” Harry says and cups Draco cheek and kisses him very carefully like the precious thing he is.

“Do you want a second name?” Draco asks and Harry shrugs.

“Not necessarily,” he answers, “but you and I have both one and I kind of like the ring of having two.”

“I cherish my second name every day,” Draco says, completely deadpan and Harry kisses him again.

“I wouldn’t mind Ramsey Draco, though I am guessing that’s a traditional thing,” Harry says.

“It is,” Draco says, “and it’s hardly appropriate in our case. Ramsey Harry if you want to go traditional.”

“Naw,” Harry says and burrows closer against Draco; he is getting tired again.

“Just one name, then,” he says, and Draco rests his lips against his forehead for a long time.

“How about Eli,” he says, “that works in French and English.”

“Ramsey Eli Potter,” Harry says, “sounds pretentious to be completely honest. I don’t think I like it after all.”

Draco laughs quietly; the baby smacks his lips in his sleep.

“Sleep on it a little,” Draco says, voice soft and Harry does.

 

\--

 

“What about Jonah?” Hermione says. Harry’s nursing and the baby is fuzzy with it today, keeps turning his tiny head to look at Draco or Hermione. Harry’s nipples ache like crazy; he had to feed the baby every two hours last night and he’s so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open.

“I like it,” Draco says, “Harry?”

“No,” Harry says, petulantly because they’ve been seriously thinking about names since yesterday and while it’s been a joke at first, Harry’s starting to despair. _What kind of father can’t even name his child,_ he thinks and promptly feels like crying.

Maybe their nameless baby picks up on it; it starts crying and Draco takes the child away, rests him on his own shoulder to burp him and Harry is a little resentful and a lot thankful.

“A lot of people are naming their kids Potter now,” Ron adds, and Harry leans back in the new lounge chair Draco bought, that barely fits in the living room as it is.

“Ridley?” Ron says, hopefully.

“Like that one too,” Draco says, and Harry just starts to cry because he doesn’t like it and he can’t name a fucking baby and his nipples hurt like crazy.

“Harry,” Draco says, soft and sorrowful. Ron looks uncomfortable.  

“You’ll feel better soon,” Hermione says as if she needs to convince herself.

Draco puts their nameless baby down in the tiny bassinet he transfigured earlier and _accio’s_ a small pot of salve, rubbing it over the pads of his fingers before carefully applying it to Harry’s aching nipples. He nudges Harry to get up from the lounge chair and sits in it himself before drawing Harry back down.

Their size difference works like this; Harry can easily curl up on him and he does, rests his head on his shoulder and sniffles a few more times. “Shh,” Draco says, “you’re doing just fine.”

When Harry looks back up both Hermione and Ron have identical expressions of fondness and worry on their faces, so he hides his head again against Draco’s neck.

“Jude?” Ron says after a moment and Harry groans.

 

\--

 

“Bébé anonyme,” Draco sings to their son another three days later. Harry’s on the couch watching them dance around the living room, feeling fuzzy and warm inside.

Earlier, Draco wrapped him into a light blanket before opening the door to the balcony and allowed Harry to have a coffee and for the first time since their child was born, Harry feels at ease, at home in his own skin again.

“Make a name out of that,” Harry suggest, and Draco looks up at him, confused.

“Anonyme,” Harry says, “why can’t we make Ano or Anone or something and pronounce it French?”

“Your Daddy wants to deny you,” Draco says to their child, but he is grinning. “Anone, really, Potter?”

“Make it Frenchier then,” Harry says and Draco laughs.

“Hm, let me see,” he tells their child mock-seriously, “how about Anoux?”

“I like that one,” Harry says and then has to laugh at the ridiculousness of the name.

“Anoux Potter?” Draco asks, “a nickname will be a tad difficult, Harry.”

“I like Anoux Luc Potter,” Harry says after a moment, serious again.

“Oh Harry,” Draco says, “didn’t we already talk about –“

“It’s you but not you,” Harry says, “if he is already getting my last name, can he not have a part of one of yours too?”

“He can,” Draco says, clearly touched, “if you want him to, then of course he can. I like Luc more than Draco.”

“I do too,” Harry says, smugly, and Draco glares at him.

“I have one other suggestion for you,” Draco says after a moment, “but it’s equally ridiculous to naming our child Anoux.”

“Shoot,” Harry says.

“The French word for Broom is balai,” Draco says, “we can name him Barley and have everyone think we really love beer.”

Harry laughs so hard he almost can’t breathe for a moment.

“Louis Luc Potter,” Draco says, “abbreviated to Lulu so everyone knows we originally wanted a girl.”

“Stop,” Harry says and gasps with his laughter.

“Bloom Luc Potter,” Draco goes on, “because you are a hipster at heart.”

“You’re the one with long hair and a man bun,” Harry says, cheeks hurting from laughing.

“Oliver,” Draco says, serious now, “Oliver Luc Potter, abbreviated to Olie.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and Draco goes to get it registered the very same day.

 

\--

 

Three weeks after Olie is born, Hénry shows up. From all of Draco’s friends with benefits he’s the steadiest one, and the one Harry dislikes the most. He knows that Hénry has hopes for something more with Draco; heard that Draco is a Malfoy and Harry could practically see the greed in his eyes even if Lucius and Draco are not speaking and Draco has been refusing his father’s money for years.

Hénry looks at the baby and the sweaty mess that is Harry with clear disgust; Harry has never been fit per se, not like Draco or Hénry himself are, but he was at least slim. _The perfect size and weight for a twink,_ Draco used to joke and that was alright, Harry was willing to be a twink for Draco. He hasn’t yet lost the baby fat again and his middle is thick, and he looks weird and he feels weird and Hénry listens to the story of how the baby was born with polite disinterest. Draco’s in the shower and Harry is tired and Olie is fuzzy and Hénry stalks towards Harry like an overgrown predatory bird when Harry tries to nurse the baby.

“Can I taste that?” he asks in his weirdly cute English accent; Harry says no and Hénry ignores him like he always does and leans down.

It’s probably instinct and still reeling from the birth that has Harry screeching NO in a high, panicked voice but the idea of Hénry touching Harry where only his tiny perfect baby is allowed at the moment is revolting.

Draco’s out of the shower within a few seconds, wand in hand, staring at the scene before him; Olie crying, Harry scrambling, Hénry looking angry and embarrassed.

Harry can’t follow the shouting match; the French is much too fast for him. He rocks Olie while Draco lays into Hénry in the kitchen, unsure if he should get involved or rather not. He likes it – loves it – that Draco protects him, but it feels too intimate at the same time; it feels too much like something Harry craves so deeply that to only have it superficially hurts.

Draco storms out of the kitchen after a moment, looking at Harry. His face does a complicated thing; Harry isn’t quite sure what Draco feels.

“Is Olie all right?” he asks and Harry nods, not trusting his voice. Draco leans down then, touches the baby and then slides a hand in Harry’s hair, stroking the nape of his neck for a moment. Hénry comes out of the kitchen too, hovering, awkwardly; it makes Harry nervous and Draco picks up on it right away.

“Hénry, please leave,” Draco says and Hénry complains and Draco turns around and walks him out, hissing furiously. He comes back a moment later to take Olie from Harry.

“You look tired,” he says, “why don’t you lay down for a bit?”

Harry nods and goes because he knows it’s easier than talking.

 

\--

 

Draco is subdued in the next days, clearly thinking on something. He closes the practice earlier to spend more time at home, tells Harry to go and rest straight after coming in from work.

It’s a help, but Harry is still aching all over after carrying the baby around until Draco comes in. His body isn’t healing well; Draco has made an appointment with a specialist in a week that Harry tried to wiggle out of, but Draco was earnest about it and in the end, Harry agreed.

“How do you want to do it?” Draco asks when Olie, “the whole raising him thing?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

“My job,” Draco says, “your job, me living in Paris and you in London. Where should he go to school? Should I only speak French to him? Do you want me to be as involved as you are?”

Harry feels overwhelmed by the questions, and not in a good way.

“Why do you ask now?” he asks, defensively, fearing that Draco wants to make a bigger decision when all Harry wants is to be allowed to stay, “why can we not just see and play it by ear?”

“I just want to make sure that there are no miscommunications,” Draco says, softly, “I don’t want us to fall out because our expectations are different. I realized that I just assumed you would be the primary caretaker right now, and I would continue working to make some money for us but maybe you want me to take some more time off work? Move back to London for a while to be closer to your friends? Switch around fairly with our job times?”

“I like it here,” Harry says, sounding small without wanting to.

“Merlin, I’m not kicking you out,” Draco says, leans forward to catch Harry’s eyes, “I love to have you here, both of you. I just – are you getting what you need from me right now?”

Harry nods, not trusting his voice.

“Harry,” Draco says with just the slightest reproach.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, “you can’t nurse him.”

“We can buy a breast pump for you,” Draco says, “and then you can go out and –“

“I don’t need to be in the woods every day,” Harry says, “you know I’m usually not. I do admin and research much more than I do patrol. I can easily do more of that right now.”

“Good,” Draco says, “I’m happy you’re saying that. I’m not so comfortable with you running around the woods right now. You really need to take the time to heal.”

“Well, then what’s your problem?” Harry asks, irritated now.

“We – you said you didn’t want kids at the hospital and we didn’t talk about it coming back,” Draco says and doesn’t go on.

“Are you asking if I don’t want him?” Harry asks and feels horrible – if that’s the impression he gave Draco he pretty much wants to kill himself straight away.

Draco hesitates for a long moment, before whispering _maybe_ underneath his breath.

“What?” Harry says, feeling so hurt he can’t even –

Draco’s hand closes around his wrist.

“I want him,” he says in a rush, “I’m worried I pressured you into accepting him without –“

“He’s my baby,” Harry interrupts and Draco reaches out to cup his face.

“Ours,” he says very quietly, “and I love him. I want to do this – with you. I want to do it right. I want to do what you want to do with him.”

Harry breaths in for a moment.

“Is flooing bad for him?” he asks, and Draco shakes his head.

“I could continue flooing between London and Paris then,” Harry proposes, “when I go back to patrol. I can go on patrol in shifts probably, doing two or three days and then no patrol days for ten to 14 days after. I can do patrol on the weekends, so you can take care of him in the meantime and -” 

“Okay,” Draco says, “but that’s what I was talking about it. I want to talk to you about exactly that because I don’t want – to never see you. To take Olie over the weekends and you come back on Monday and I hand him over and go to work. I want to – close the practice earlier to go out to the park or get ice-cream and I don’t want to stop spending time together without him. I want – I want a family life, Harry.”

“I do too,” Harry says after a moment, even if he wants to say, _but doesn't that mean we should be in a relationship._ “I’m not – I’m not ready for anything basically. I already struggle with carrying Olie around for a day. I won’t be getting back on patrol for at least another – I don’t know. Probably months, right?”

Draco nods. “The birth really did a number on you, Harry,” he says, “I’m sorry. But I think we are talking at least half a year.”

“Okay,” Harry says, “but that gives us time to think about it. What we can do about it. Talk about our personal affairs and situations. No point in figuring it out now when we know how much can change in a short time with such a little baby.”

“Yes,” Draco agrees, “I’m – I want to stop seeing Hénry.”

“Okay?” Harry asks. “He’s not my boyfriend, that’s your decision.”

“I thought you liked him?” Draco asks and Harry shrugs. He’s not opening that can of worms tonight.

“Great,” Draco says, slightly sarcastic, “it’s really a relief to know that you don’t like the guy that shared our bed for, well, only two years.”

“I’m not getting into this,” Harry says, and Draco sighs, rubs a hand abruptly over his face.

“Sorry,” he says, “so you want me to break it off with him or no?”

“Your decision,” Harry says calmly. Olie starts crying then and Harry goes, lays down with him in the bed, even though Draco said not to and nurses him and falls asleep with him.

 

\--

 

The results from his examination are far from encouraging; apparently Harry’s magic cannot compensate for the damage to his body right now. There’s a lot of talk of magical cores, healing therapy and regenerative magic; Harry only half listens to it because he doesn’t understand much of it to start with and he’s dead tired after a full morning of tests.

Draco strokes through his hair at some point, asking him if he wants to take a nap and if he’s fine with the conversation switching to French and Harry is; he appreciated Draco finding him someone fluent in English, but it wasn’t really necessary. As a healer himself, Draco’s able to discuss medical issues in a completely different way than Harry and Harry doesn’t mind him doing it.

That evening after dinner, Draco reads through Harry’s data again with a deep frown on his face.

“You’re sure you’re not experiencing some acute depression symptoms?” he asks after a moment, “your results make absolutely no sense.”

“So after wanting me to get better for years, you want me miserable again? Make up your mind,” Harry says and strokes his nose through Olie’s soft baby hair. Draco watches them and clearly loses the thread of the conversation for a moment, a soft smile on his face.

“Anyway,” Draco says when Harry puts the baby back down in his bassinet, “I haven’t done regular healing in some years and I was certainly never much interested in birthing magic, but I’m a bit worried about these results Harry.”

“You said I’ll get better with time,” Harry says, very quiet. He doesn’t like it; the attention, the questions; Harry doesn’t get sick on principle.

It hurts too much if there’s no one to take care of him.

Draco studies him intently for a long moment.

“You’re better already,” he says, “but you’re not nearly where you should be. Have you been doing magic?”

“Some,” Harry says, evasively. Harry’s distrust of his own magic is a constant point of friction between them. Draco doesn’t understand how Harry cannot be interested in using magic outside of work; Harry is scared to tell him why magic started to feel scary for him.

Magic was a way to survive, but also something that could hurt deeply at one point in his life; thinking of Voldemort’s power and what little he had to hold against him caught up with Harry when he was training to become an Auror and ever since then he stopped being able to think on his feet, take the lead, duel with no thought about consequences. Magic, especially new magic, turned scary and Harry hasn’t found a way out of that yet. He’s fine using it in the woods when it’s him without anyone around for miles, just the trees witnessing all his victories and failures; he’s fine doing his research and then using new magic on the job, but he prefers to have his private life mostly magic free.

“Harry,” Draco says, quietly.

Harry swallow and looks away. They are both silent for a moment. Draco puts Harry’s folder down and leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking at Harry. He’s not quiet in his personal space but close to it.

“Do want to try telling me why you don’t use it at home?” he says, and his voice is like a siren’s call to Harry. He wants to, _god,_ he wants to so badly, but Harry has trouble finding his words at the best of time.

“Just try,” Draco says, voice still honey-soft, “it’s only us here. The flat is warded; the baby is almost asleep and it’s only me. Take your time, the words will come. You know I keep your secrets safe.”

Harry closes his eyes. The kitchen smells like the Lasagna Draco made for dinner, Olie smells like baby powder and love and Draco put on Harry’s favorite cologne this morning.

Harry tells him. Draco listens. When Harry is finished, Draco gets up and kneels in front of him, laying his hands on top of Harry’s thighs.

“Alright, Harry,” he says, “I understand. We’ll work on it.”

 

\--

 

Draco brings home a chart one day that explains the typical developmental stages of a baby and toddler. He tosses it to Harry casually, forgets about it clearly from the moment it’s not in his hands; he studied these things after all.

Harry gets a little obsessed with it.

Olie is well within where he should be at five weeks; there’s nothing to worry about but Harry starts to worry.

Harry’s become quite the worrier.

He remembers being like this as a kid; worrying about all kinds of things. Will Uncle Vernon be nice to him today, will he get to taste chocolate when Dudley brings it home, will the aspirin Aunt Petunia gives him for his tummy aches help? Will his teacher allow him again to borrow another book well below his expected reading level because Harry just can’t concentrate on the longer sentences, will he need to weed the garden, will the nice bus driver smile at him and tell him to pocket his change and let him ride for free which means he can buy a soda from the corner shop? If his Mom was here, would she hug him, if his Dad was here would they play ball, if he was nicer or a harder worker or smarter would Aunt Petunia love him despite it all?

He stopped worrying when he came to Hogwarts; it was maybe shocked out of him for a few years. There was not much to worry about after all. Harry knew he had to kill Voldemort or Voldemort would kill him. He made plans of course and strategized but he didn’t spent hours running outcomes through his head – there simply wasn’t time.

Then the war ended, and Harry held on to Hogwarts Harry as hard as he could, only with a bit more crying and panic attacks and anger management issues and then Harry turned 24, somehow went to Paris and broke down the moment he saw Draco.

He’s been different since then, more like the kid version of himself. He went to therapy and it helped but so many of his coping strategies were replaced and Harry withdrew more and more from the version he was in the Wizarding World because it felt hollower with each day. Harry had no idea who he really was, only knew that he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a savior, his magic wasn’t powerful, he wasn’t straight, he didn’t marry, and so forth. He was a kid in a cupboard and he just wanted hugs.

It took Ron and Hermione ages to come to term with this different Harry; George and Ginny and Luna and Neville and Dean and Seamus and Thomas, they all didn’t understand what was going on. It was Draco who provided the hugs and the space to find out more about himself; it was Draco who understood and never made Harry explain himself unless Harry wanted to.

That’s why Harry keeps his obsessing and worrying over Olie from him; Draco will know immediately that Harry is over-compensating and he will want to know why, and Harry doesn’t know why.

Harry starts a developmental diary for Olie instead, notes down weight and head lifting and smiles, how much he drank, his poo and all kinds of other things. Sometimes he doodles little question marks in the corners, writes _normal?_ If he isn’t sure what his data means, on the days when Olie barely smiles or when he isn’t hungry and asks Draco to look at him when he comes home. Draco always does and Olie is always fine; with time Draco frowns when Harry asks him to look, but he doesn’t say anything.

Olie had had a day when he mostly slept when Draco finds the notebook.

Harry comes back from the walk he went on that Draco wanted him to take; _just some time for yourself to relax_ , Draco said, and Harry nodded and went and had an ice-cream and it was nice.

When he comes back, Draco is sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table; Olie is on the plush rug Draco transfigured a while back, entertaining himself with a few tiny floating magic animals Draco made for him. The notebook is open; Draco’s face reveals nothing when Harry sits down opposite him.

They stare at each other for a long time.

“How can I help you?” Draco asks finally.

Harry shrugs and doesn’t look at him.

“Olie is fine,” Draco says, softly, “he’s healthy. You’re taking good care of him. There’s nothing wrong with him. What are you so scared of?”

“I want him to have everything he needs,” Harry says after a long moment, and his voice sounds wet; Harry blinks. He’s not quite sure what’s going on with him.

Draco loosely wraps one hand around Harry’s wrist.

“I will check him every day for you,” he says, quietly, “and I’ll tell you immediately if anything is going on. If I do that, can you try to stop observing him and just be with him and enjoy your time with him?”

Harry thinks about it, isn’t sure. “I’m not sure,” he says and Draco nods.

“Harry,” he says, “have you felt very scared and worried since he was born?”

“Yeah,” Harry admits. Draco’s thumb caresses the pulse point in his wrist; it feels nice.

“Have you had lunch when I’m not home?” Draco asks next and Harry shakes his head; he hasn’t felt like preparing something for himself.

“Do you need these lists to understand Olie?” Draco asks, “to understand what he needs?”

“How else would I know?” Harry says and he’s shaking now, just a tiny bit, but Draco picks up on it and drags Harry on his lap.

“Have you ever heard of postpartum depression, baby?” he asks and holds Harry and Harry burrows against his neck.

“No,” he says, and Draco nods and kisses his ear.

“We’ll be visiting another specialist this week,” he says, “I think you might have that. Postpartum depression, I mean. A lot people have it after birth. It’s normal; it’ll go away again. It just makes it a bit harder for you in the first few months with Olie, because you don’t feel your usual self.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, and Draco nudges him.

“What do I tell you about saying sorry?” he says, but he sounds a little amused.

“Only to say it if I did something wrong,” Harry mumbles; he’s so tired again.

“There,” Draco says, “no need for a sorry then,” and keeps holding him.

 

\--

 

Draco was wonderful during the birth; he’s been wonderful since.

He’s always teasing Harry, calling him Potter or savior and riling him up about being a neat freak and his food issues, but it’s soft, it’s tender, it didn’t stop when Olie was born even though Harry isn’t feeling well, and Draco knows it. It’s good for Harry; it feels normal and Harry needs a little normal now that he suddenly has a child with zero time for preparations.

Three weeks after Harry gets new potions for his postpartum depression, Hénry is over, complaining about Harry and the baby always being in Draco’s flat now. Harry guesses that he missed his chance to finally get rid of him when Draco asked his opinion. Admitting that he has needs and voicing them; if he voices them and he’s not heard he feels as if he is back in the cupboard.

Draco cuts Hénry’s complaining off, angrily. Harry knows that Hénry is more or less Draco’s steady boyfriend, while Harry is the guy that needs Draco to survive; it’s a weird combination by its very nature.  

Harry would love to have the guts to tell Draco that he believes Hénry to be a calculated, heartless bastard who would poison Harry and Olie if he could to have Draco and his money for himself, but he just can’t find the courage.

Harry’s on the couch and Hénry and Draco are on Draco’s tiny lounge chairs; and Hénry is teasing Harry and Draco is teasing Harry, and it took a turn to being mean 10 minutes ago; Draco teasing Harry by himself is one of Harry’s favorite things but with Hénry around, Draco’s teasing reminds Harry of their time at Hogwarts and nothing else.

Harry can’t really take teasing unless it’s affectionate; he’s never told Draco.

“You need to stop allowing people to walk all over you,” Draco said years ago when Ginny made Harry a scene long after they had broken up; Harry knows that Draco doesn’t understand that Harry feels as if he allows Draco to walk all over him whenever Hénry is with him, would most likely be horrified by that.

Harry excuses himself to go to the bathroom and just breathe for a moment; considers laying down with Olie who is down for a nap, but he ends back up in the living room. Draco and Hénry migrated to the couch and are making out.

“Come here,” Draco says when he sees him, softly and affectionate and Harry goes, lets himself be kissed by both of them. He squirms away when Hénry tries to sneak a hand in his pants; Harry isn’t anywhere near close to being up for sex again.

“How about a blowjob, Harry?” Draco asks and kisses a line across the side of Harry’s neck, “both of us blowing you, making you feel good?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry says; Draco he knows will listen.

“No assplay whatsoever,” Draco promises, “I told Hénry you’re not ready for it.”

Harry aches; he wants but he’s frankly disgusted by the state of his ass; he’s only stopped pissing blood and other stuff a week ago.

“We’ll make it so good for you,” Draco says, and Harry wants to agree to his soft and sparkling eyes, his teasing smile but he still hesitates and then Hénry says “oh come one,” and grabs Harry’s hair, yanks him towards him and kisses him.

It lasts maybe a second and then Draco has them separated, eyes promising murder.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Draco says and Hénry switches to French and Harry makes to get up, but Hénry is still close to him and yanks him back down and then reaches out and twists Harry’s nipple through his shirt in a single, quick motion.

Draco has him disarmed and in a body-bind before Hénry can even draw his wand.

Draco pushes Hénry from the couch carelessly to get to Harry, because Harry – Harry is maybe having a tiny panic attack.

“Count the pillows on the couch for me,” Draco says, and Harry does, “count to five before breathing out,” Draco says, and Harry does, “tell me what year it is and where you are,” Draco says, and Harry does.

“There go you, Harry,” Draco whispers, “I’ve got you. I am so sorry. Let me take you to Olie and deal with this.” Harry nods.

Draco holds Harry’s hand while leading him into the bedroom, makes him lay down, takes Olie out of his little floating bassinet and puts him on Harry’s chest. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says and strokes Harry’s hair and wards the door when he goes.

Harry’s been hexed and killed and imprisoned. There’s no real reason to react so strongly to something so – trivial. It’s maybe not surprising when Harry remembers how he reacted towards violence during Auror training but still. He feels stupid. He should just have punched Hénry and be done with it.

The bedroom door opens again a few short minutes later and Draco slides in next to them, shuffling them around until Harry is in his arms nursing their baby.

One of Draco’s hands finds in its way in Harry’s hair and he gently massages Harry in the way he likes.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry says just when Draco opens his mouth. Draco nods and kisses Harry, before stroking his fingers so very carefully over Harry’s unoccupied nipple, the one Hénry tweaked. It’s a little red and irritated, a drop of milk on it and Draco whispers something and smears a little salve over the tender spot a moment later.

He doesn’t ask any questions; Hénry doesn’t come over again.

 

\--

 

Harry’s breaking point is just after Olie turns three months. Draco leaves in the morning and Olie starts fussing; an hour later Olie is bawling his little eyes out and Harry doesn’t know why.

He hasn’t quite gotten over the feeling of inadequacy in dealing with his infant even if the extra therapy helps; Draco is better at soothing Olie, at knowing what he needs. He pointed out more than once that he has studied infant care and Harry should cut himself some slack, but it made Harry cry under the shower more than once.

After four hours of Olie bawling and Harry carrying him around, Harry simply can’t, plops down on the floor in front of their couch. Bouncing and carrying Olie this long wasn’t good for him and he feels dizzy with pain, sweaty and desperate; he feels like he felt when he saw Sirius fall through the veil and he knows that’s very dramatic, but he can’t help it.

Harry starts crying too and that’s how Draco finds them 15 minutes later because Harry is very sure that he spell-trapped their flat to alert him when anything’s wrong with Harry; Draco is still very relaxed about the possibility of anything being wrong with Olie and probably didn’t use the same precautions.

Draco takes Olie first, hugging him close and whispering to him and their child calms down almost immediately, does little hiccupping sobs instead of full-blown bawling. His tiny fists rub his eyes and his whole body loses the horrible tension it held all morning and then he’s cuddling himself close and then he’s falling asleep.

Harry’s still crying, but he watches Draco carry Olie over to their bedroom without glancing back at Harry once; his child prefers Draco and Harry can understand it; between him and Draco, Draco is his favorite person too.

It still hurts as if something has died in Harry, knowing that he isn’t a good Dad.  

He doesn’t really make a conscious decision. He just gets up and goes to the door and then he goes out of the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter deals with an abusive relationship / intimate partner violence / mentions unhealthy sexual practices (not between the main pairings).
> 
> I think this fic will be a bit longer than I anticipated and will probably have six instead of five chapters. That number may go down again, though. You can find me here: foxincrepuscularlight.tumblr.com if you have any questions.

Harry met Draco in a muggle gay club three years after the battle. Harry was sucking a guy off who deepthroated him without his consent; when Draco stumbled upon them, Harry was trying to get away from him but didn’t manage because Harry never grew taller than 1.65 and didn’t put on muscle or weight.

Draco hit the guy so hard his own knuckles split.

“Potter,” he said afterwards, “wanna get out of here?”

Harry did.

He apparated them to Grimmauld Place which was still a heap of trash because Harry never started to clean it up. He should have had the time since he was jobless, but most days Harry was proud of himself when he managed to eat and do the washing up and put on fresh clothes. Kreacher was long gone by then and so it was just Harry, living in Grimmauld and hating it.

Draco looked around and shuddered, but he still took the beer Harry gave him.

It might have been an easy fix back then, Harry leaning in and kissing Draco, Draco fucking him more than once until the night was over.

But for all of Harry’s famed braveness, he was afraid to offer something, and have it refused like Harry refused Draco’s hand that very first day.

They talked instead. For hours and hours, about nothing in particular. It wasn’t important, not yet. Harry told Draco about his difficulties finding a job. Draco told Harry about his healer apprenticeship at St. Mungo’s.

“Two more years to go,” he said while playing with his beer bottle, “I’m specializing in psychiatry. Will go to Paris and work there after I’m done, I already have the recommendation I need. Makes a lot of people uncomfortable, but I’m guessing our savior doesn’t have any dark secrets, does he?”

Harry laughed nervously.

 

\--

 

Harry couldn’t really explain it; maybe it was natural to collide into each other the way they did with all the hating and stalking and worrying they did in their school years.

Draco wasn’t bothered with any philosophical questions about them at all. The past was done with; Draco wanted to move on and forward, even though he wasn’t honest at first about already having done the therapy, having already atoned for his sins as much as he could. Harry only found out much later that Narcissa was dead.

At first Harry was convinced that their meeting was a one-time thing, a strange little figment passing away in time that he would look back on and think _how strange it all was._ But then Harry found himself thinking more and more of Draco, of how weird it was to see him in a Muggle club, of how weird it was that he spent his days working at St. Mungo’s. Who had been willing to accept him as apprentice after all he had done?

A part of Harry knew he was obsessing but when it concerned Draco, obsessing had been old history to Harry and so he didn’t bother with asking himself what the fuck he was doing when he went to St. Mungo’s a few days later after their chance encounter to invite Draco for a coffee. Or a beer. Harry wasn’t particular.

“You want to do what?” Draco asked, slightly suspicious when Harry finally found him in his ward. His apprentice robes fit smugly, and Harry could appreciate that he looked good. He was long and lean, and his hair was shiny, and he was clearly a man who spent time taking care of his appearance.

Harry had only started to look at him recently and so he did look a little.

“Have a chat,” Harry repeated. “Just you know – to talk about things.”

“What things?” Draco asked, still wary. “This is not – Auror business, right?”

“Fuck, no,” Harry said, taken aback, “I’m not – I’m not an Auror.”

“But you are a consultant,” Draco countered, and Harry shook his head. “Not really,” he said, quietly, “not – anymore. I – don’t deal so well with, you know, fighting.”

Draco studied him for a long moment and then he nodded. “My shift ends in half an hour,” he said, and Harry grinned and waited for him in the entrance hall.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked Draco maybe a little too eagerly, because Draco seemed wary again, when he met Harry. “Not anywhere Wizard,” he said, and Harry nodded. He stayed in the Muggle areas too.

It was strange, apparating with Draco to a quiet corner of Canary Wharf, where Draco knew a coffeeshop. They walked in together and sat down and held a perfectly civil conversation about all kinds of things and Harry liked it, and in the end, he asked Draco if he wanted to do it again.

“Potter,” Draco said and hesitated, searching Harry’s eyes for a long moment. “You – are you sure?”

“Why not?” Harry asked, a little mystified by Draco’s strange intensity.

“I was an awful prick to you at school,” Draco said, in a very quiet voice.

“I like awful pricks,” Harry answered, and wasn’t even sure what he meant by that. Draco huffed out a laugh anyway and smiled; a tiny little honest smile that Harry had never ever seen before.

“You sure do,” Draco drawled and agreed to meet Harry again same time next week.

 

\--

 

Next week, they went for a beer instead of a coffee and then they decided to go and have dinner and then they went to another pub and had another beer.

Draco was wearing a blue shirt that made him look – Harry wasn’t sure. Good. Really, really good and Harry could admit that he was rather looking a lot. _Don’t_ , he kept telling himself, but it was hard.

Draco was telling him a bit about his research and Harry tried to listen, tried to understand what he was talking about even if it wasn’t easy for him. His foundation in magical theory was subpar at best, but he nodded along and asked a few questions and hoped that Draco didn’t notice.

“What are you doing if you don’t do consultancy?” Draco asked, and Harry shrugged his shoulders.

“To be honest, not so much,” he admitted. “I’m – just not sure what I want to do. Preferably something without people interaction, because it’s – not good.”

“That was just as eloquent as I remember you,” Draco said but there was a sparkle in his eyes. Harry huffed.

“I get overwhelmed,” he admitted, “with the attention. Of people I don’t know. They – touch me. Or tell me war stories and I. Don’t want it.”

Draco’s eyes were sympathetic, when he nodded. “I understand,” he said and switched topics to discuss Quidditch and Harry felt as if he could breathe a little easier.

 

\--

 

He wondered later, if they would have gotten such good friends without the sex incident. Probably not. Maybe yes.

Harry went out on a Saturday night and for the first time ever he brought home a guy. There were things in Grimmauld that were hard to explain, but they kissed all the way up the stairs and Harry was just a tad too drunk to not care about consequences.

It was Harry’s first time, but he didn’t tell the guy. Harry could admit to himself that he was not only inexperienced but that he was also uninformed and so he didn’t have lube and the guy didn’t either and they still went ahead, because Harry thought it would be fine.

It was in a way. The pain was blinding, but it was sweet too, a kind of mix that took Harry out of his body. When the guy found his prostrate, Harry’s toes curled, and his body sang with it and it felt so good to just be in the moment, to just be a guy that got fucked by another guy.

When the guy pulled out and they saw that Harry had ripped, then well. It wasn’t so good any longer.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” the guy said and insisted on getting it looked at, but Harry walked him down and assured him that he would take care of it and kicked him out.

He went to bed, but woke up with an awful, awful pain in his ass and some more blood on his sheets and because he was an idiot, he went and looked up risks of anal sex and was promptly sure that he had a colon perforation.

Harry didn’t really understand why wizards couldn’t get Muggle hospital treatment, but he knew enough to know that he couldn’t go to a Muggle hospital. But he also couldn’t go to St. Mungo’s, because it would end up in the press and Harry – wasn’t ready. He hadn’t even told Hermione or Ron yet about being into men.  

The solution was still mortifying, but Harry had no other.

Draco looked confused at first, then briefly angry and then concerned when Harry firecalled him. “Please,” Harry said, “I don’t want – I don’t want the press to discuss this Draco. I’m not – I don’t want it to be made public yet.”

“Alright, Harry. Let me step through,” Draco said, and he was in a ratty t-shirt and low-hanging sweat pants and he hadn’t bothered with real shoes, only wore slippers.

“You didn’t use lube?” he asked, softly incredulous and Harry shook his head no.

“Was that your first time, Harry?” Draco asked, while he made Harry lay down on his bed.

“Er,” Harry said and tried not to die with the shame he felt.

“I’m asking because it’s a bit more normal to tear with your first few tries,” Draco said, kindly, “and if it wasn’t then there might be other causes for you tearing. I’m not trying to embarrass you.” Harry didn’t look at him and nodded.

Draco didn’t ask anything else, but Harry knew that he knew; about Harry’s inexperience, his stupidity, his desperate longing for someone, why Harry wasn’t even brave enough to admit to a guy that said guy was about to take his virginity and couldn’t even ask to take it slow.

Harry braced himself, but Draco didn’t say anything else, just rubbed his hand over Harry’s thigh.

“Hold your legs to your chest,” he said, and Harry did, desperately trying to ignore the fact that he was naked from the waist down and bearing his fucking asshole to Draco Malfoy.

“Shh,” Draco said as if he knew that Harry wasn’t doing so great in the moment, and a soft spell tingled over Harry that had his hole relaxing. Draco lubricated his fingers next and carefully stretched Harry open, before using his wand to knit the skin inside back together. “Just a rip, Harry. I’m going to add some soothing balm,” he said and entered a finger and it felt – Harry wasn’t sure. He hadn’t done much of that last night, and it wasn’t sexual at all, but it still felt good. Safe, if Draco did it.

“There you go,” Draco said, calmly, “don’t engage in anal sex for 24 hours. And let me buy you a copy of safe gay sex for wizards. It’s an American book and it’s quite – well-informed. You can actually conjure lube, you know.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and didn’t look at him and Draco cuffed him over the head when they went back down.

“See you in two days,” Draco said, and Harry breathed out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding in, “I want to go and try the Lahmacun of the place we walked past, last week. You’re paying.”

“Never,” Harry answered, good-naturally and Draco grinned and then he stepped towards Harry and drew him into an embrace.

“And don’t rip open your asshole again,” he whispered and laughed when Harry tried to box him and just like that, they were friends.

 

\--

 

“Should we talk about the war?” Harry asked a few weeks into it and Draco looked down at him, calmly.

“If you want to,” he said, “if you need to, then of course we can. I would like to – tell you things, sometimes. But we don’t have to talk about it, just to talk about it, you know.” He hesitated a moment and then tugged up his sleeve, showing Harry the Mark. “As long as you are okay with this being on me and knowing that I deeply regret ever getting it,” he added, quietly and Harry nodded.

It took Harry years to understand that he should have asked _should we talk about our families._

 

\--

 

They went to Quidditch together, they went flying together, they had dinner and lunch and coffees together. Draco brought Harry a book on gay sex Harry never read. Harry brought Draco a plush ferret that Draco tried to stuff into Harry’s mouth.

They went out together and Harry watched Draco’s roaring successes in the Muggle gay clubs they went to. Harry had a lot less suitors and felt somewhat awkward kissing or making out in front of Draco, but Draco would smirk at him, and Harry would feel a little bit stupid to back down and so they made out with various other guys while Draco did the same.

“Do your parents know you’re gay?” Harry asked one morning at five when they were on their ways home and watched the sun slowly paint the sky a glorious red and pink.

Draco kept walking a few steps and then stopped and reached out to tug at Harry’s arm. “Can we,” he started to say and stopped again. He looked up at the sky for a moment, clearly hesitating. “Go somewhere,” he continued, “a park or something?”

They were closer to Grimmauld and Harry led Draco to the tiny park close by with a rundown children’s play space that no child ever used. They sat and looked at the two swings; one broken and one whole.

“They know,” Draco said after they stared at the swings for some time. “I’ve never had any interest in girls. My first crush was Gregory Goyle’s older brother when I was eight.”

“I didn’t know he had a brother,” Harry said, because Draco’s tone was off and talking about Goyle seemed safer than asking other questions.

“Went to Durmstrang,” Draco said, “pretty classic amidst pure-blood families to send the heirs there and the younger kids to Hogwarts.”

Harry hesitated, wary, thinking that he shouldn’t ask –

“Don’t bother asking,” Draco said, “I’ll explain. My father was in favor of course to send me to Durmstrang too, but my mother didn’t want it. I’m not sure why; she claimed she wanted me closer to home, but with the methods of travel we can use, Durmstrang isn’t exactly far away, either. I think she was scared Durmstrang would be too rough for me and she was probably right; I could hardly deal with Hogwarts as it stands.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, mostly to make a sound.

“I was terrified,” Draco says, in a very soft tone, “of going to Hogwarts and be considered – strange. My father got so angry when Goyle’s brother once complained about me staring and touching his hand and being clingy. He told me that I was lacking – decorum. My mother told me I could be myself but only with family. To the outside world I was expected to be – different. In control. Talented and above all others. You have no idea how – what he – how bad it was when I came home year after year second best after Gran – Hermione.”

“I didn’t know,” Harry said, and tried hard not to imagine what a displeased Lucius would have done to Draco, tried hard not to recall Draco at elven, so tiny and blond, with his little pointy face.

“Don’t be,” Draco said easily, “back to the question at hand. If you wanted to know if they approve. They didn’t. Vocally. My father is very – I mean the word toxic masculinity was probably invented because of him. He loved me and comforted me and touched me until I went to Hogwarts and then he expected me to be – grown-up. Just like this. One day he read to me in the evenings and did voices for all the different animals in my books and the next day he didn’t even kiss me goodnight. My mother already started crying over me and the lack of heirs when I was eight. She would tell me that she loved me but only – if I did my duties. I had a marriage contract with the Greengrass family that I only managed to dissolve last year by providing evidence that I was only interested in the same sex in a tiny office at the Department of the Unspeakables.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Harry said and Draco grinned. It looked feral. It looked awfully unhappy.

“Then,” Draco said and took a deep breath, and another, and another. “Then – shit.”

“Draco?” Harry asked, very carefully. Draco’s hand twitched in his lap and Harry wanted to – hold it maybe, to keep it still, to show that he was there. But. Was that something people did? Was it alright to reach out and –

Draco took his hand, not looking at him and Harry clutched him, hard.

“Then my mother killed herself,” Draco said, calmly. “About eleven months after you killed Voldemort.”

“What?” Harry whispered, and Draco nodded. “She brewed a potion,” he said in an awfully disinterested voice, “and drank it down and then she laid down in her bed and in the morning, she was dead.”

Harry stared at him, and Draco stared back and then his whole face crumpled up and he closed his eyes. No tears fell. Harry kept holding his hand and carefully moved closer to press their legs together.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, and Draco shook his head.

“I was too,” he said, “so much so. For all of a day and then we found two farewell letters to me and my father.  In mine she claimed, that she just couldn’t do it anymore. The disgrace after Voldemort. The sneers and whispers. The disgrace of having a – homosexual as a son, as she put it.” His face crumpled again; still no tears, Harry noted and something in his chest hurt like a broken piece of metal stabbed through him.

“That she would never have grandkids,” Draco continued in a voice so suffocated Harry itched with it, “that she was so disappointed that I was willing to throw away all her sacrifices just to satisfy – you know, lust. Sex. Whatever. She didn’t even think I could have a relationship or love or what it would do to me to forsake myself this part of me.”

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” Harry said again, not knowing what else to say.

“I was too,” Draco admitted. “I – for a few weeks and months I did stupid things. I graduated and I – floundered around and I made a horrible mistake. And then my father sat me down and told me that he didn’t want me to – that he did want me happy. That he was sorry for the things she had written. That he was sorry for letting me see my letter before reading it fully himself. That – she shamed her memory of being my mom with that letter.”

“That’s – nice of him,” Harry said and decided not to think about the weirdness of Lucius Malfoy being a good Dad.

“It – helped me a lot,” Draco whispered. “It made me – I applied for healer training. I started therapy. I addressed a lot of my internalized homophobia and two years later, I’m fine with myself. I love – being gay. It’s just who I am. It’s not an issue any more with my father.”

“I’m glad,” Harry said, earnestly. They sat in silence for a long while.

“What about your relatives?” Draco asked. Harry’s palm started to sweat.

“I don’t have any,” he said, very quietly.

Draco furrowed a brow at him. “I thought you grew up with your Muggles relatives?”

Harry stared down at their joint hands, listened to his heart beat gallop in his chest.

“I don’t see them,” he said, “they don’t. Care. What I do. I haven’t seen them in – ever since I turned 17.”

“Why not?” Draco asked, softly. Harry breathed in.

“They thought I was a freak because I’m a wizard,” he whispered. “So. They never liked – they think being gay is unnatural. I don’t think they – would react kindly to it. They wouldn’t like to see me, you know. They – we don’t see each other.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said and pressed Harry’s hand.

 

\--

 

“This,” Draco said, “is positively insane. _How_ can you like Mourinho better than Guardiola? Mourinho is a sick and twisted man, Harry. I’m pretty sure he has a basement full of horribly dark secrets.”

“Oh, _really,_ ” Harry retorted hotly, “I’ve been in basements with horribly dark secrets, you know. Which makes me an _expert._ Which makes me the person who can tell you: Guardiola is overrated.”

Draco threw a beer cap at him. “You know nothing!” he said and giggled when Harry pushed him over on the couch.

“I’m a bit drunk,” Harry admitted from the place where he had smashed his face between Draco’s ribcage and the couch.

“Hm,” Draco said and petted his hair. “Want another beer?” he asked, and Harry nodded.

“Which basement have you been in?” Draco asked, and Harry didn’t think. “Yours,” he said and felt Draco stiffen underneath him.

Harry sat up. Draco wasn’t looking at him.

“Sorry,” Harry said after a moment. Draco closed his eyes and then wiggled around until Harry slid off him.

“I think I should get going,” Draco said, so very quietly. He still wasn’t looking at Harry.

“Please,” Harry said. His heartbeat had doubled up and he was drunk, and he didn’t want Draco to go. It was so unbearably lonely without Draco. It was so unbearably lonely in this big, dark house where nobody ever visited Harry, because he was a drab and a sad slob of issues and unhappiness.

Draco stopped, and finally looked at Harry.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, because he didn’t know what else to say. “Just – have another beer?”

“My father almost killed you,” Draco said, as if he had just remembered; he sounded horrified. “I risked your life more than once at Hogwarts and I – I just forgot. I wanted this to work, but – Harry. It just won’t. We don’t need to kid ourselves on how it won’t work.”

It was Harry’s turn to look away from him, and Draco really did go out then, walked down the hallway and towards the entrance hall. Harry let himself fall back on the cushions and tried to breath out, but instead he sobbed, just one tiny sob of the multitudes of sobs that were inside him. He bit the sound of as soon as he could, bit down hard on his knuckles. But Draco had heard already and called his name and his steps returned and Harry couldn’t look up, because his eyes were hot and wet, and he didn’t want to see.

“Hey,” Draco whispered in front of him, and warm hands reached out and cupped Harry’s cheeks, slipped into his hair, stroked his hair back from his forehead. “Please don’t, Harry. Please don’t cry.”

“You’re my best friend,” Harry heard himself say and promptly bit down hard on his fist again, horrified.

“That’s – Harry,” Draco said, helplessly. Harry tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but Draco kneeled in front of him and simply tucked him forward and down, cradled him in his arms. Harry’s head fell against his shoulder, against his neck and it was the perfect place to hide and so Harry did.

“Shh,” Draco whispered in his ear and Harry tried; he tried so hard to not start crying.

“Shh,” Draco repeated, “I’m here. It’s okay. It’s okay if you need to let it out. It’s okay.”

“Please,” Harry said, and his voice broke in the middle of it and he gasped, and Draco hugged him closer.

“You’re okay,” he said, “I think I’ll have another beer. If it’s alright with you? Is it alright with you if I stay, Harry?” Harry nodded, but they kept sitting arm in arm for much longer.

 

\--

 

Draco, Harry found out, was a hard worker.

It shouldn’t surprise him so much, he thought, after spending some time thinking back to their times at Hogwarts. Draco usually came in after Hermione and he was better than her in potions and herbology, probably in DADA as well. If Harry thinks back, Draco got similarly intense around exam time, just like Hermione, studying for hours, not even bothering with teasing Harry.

During his apprenticeship, Draco sat down and read every evening. He didn’t entertain himself much otherwise, but he read and took notes and practiced his magic. He was reading Muggle psychiatry books too and all the complicated journal articles Harry had no hope of ever understanding.

It made Harry feel like a slob.

They were at Draco’s flat one day and Draco had a steaming pot of coffee next to him and was deep into a book so old Harry was surprised it wasn’t falling apart. Harry didn’t have anything to occupy himself with; he was laying on the couch with his feet in Draco’s lap who rubbed them whenever he wasn’t noting something down or drinking his coffee.

“I’m bored,” Harry complained. Draco didn’t even look up, just nodded his head in the direction of his overflowing book cases. “Pick whatever you like,” he said, and Harry sighed and didn’t move.

“I’m not that good at thinking,” he said, and Draco chuckled and said mock earnest: “I am not surprised at all.”

Harry kicked him, just lightly and Draco kept reading and Harry kept thinking.

“I wasn’t allowed to do my homework before Hogwarts,” he said after a moment, “I tried to do it at night, but it was hard. It took me ages to learn how to write.”

Draco didn’t look up, but he squeezed Harry’s ankle.

“If I got better grades than Dudley they would smack me,” Harry admitted, very quietly, “I didn’t like learning. I don’t know how you manage to sit down and work so much, I just don’t have the patience.”

Draco drank another sip of his coffee and kept rubbing Harry’s ankle and still didn’t look up.

“Learning is fun,” he said, “it’s a skill. You can practice getting better at it. Learning makes your world bigger, you know. It’s unfair to not give that to a child.”

“Hm,” Harry said, and Draco went back to his book.

 

\--

 

When Thomas dumped Harry after four months of dating, Harry went to see Draco.

Out of all his friends, Draco was the only one who knew about Thomas. Draco was with Harry in the bar when Thomas had come up, winked at Harry and asked if he could buy him a beer. He was a Muggle university student with brown hair and brown eyes, and Harry liked how witty and charming he was.

They had a good time. Having sex regularly had felt fantastic to Harry; having someone waking up next to him was great. Harry got cuddles and kisses and he loved them, he craved them. He had transfigured much of Grimmauld before he asked Thomas over for the first time and it had worked perfectly, because Harry was sort of scared of telling him about the Wizarding world.

And then, one sunny morning, Thomas had looked at Harry, patted his arm and announced that he didn’t think this would work out.

“Why not?” Harry asked, stunned and hurt.

“Oh, come on Harry,” Thomas said, “I mean, it’s not like you made much of an effort. You’ve been distant the whole time.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. His mouth was awfully dry, and it seemed silly that only he could hear his heartbeat, the way it thundered away.

“You never take the initiative,” Thomas said, a hurtful slant to his mouth. “If I don’t kiss you or ask you to fuck or cuddle you, we simply wouldn’t do any of these things. When I told you that I was thinking of finally telling my brother that I’m gay you didn’t even offer to come with me. You never ask me personal questions. And that’s okay; we just need different things. I can’t be with an emotionally unresponsive person and you probably need more distance. So best to end it here, before it gets ugly, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded, mechanically and Thomas sighed. “It’s a bit pathetic that you can’t even look me in the eye,” he said, “and it’s also just plain weird how – you are about touching. Maybe work on that before the next guy.”

And with that he left.

Harry sat down on his kitchen chair with a thump and didn’t get up for a really long time.

Draco was in the middle of getting dressed when Harry rang, and Harry realized absently that he was about to leave for work. He knew Draco’s schedule by now and was about to go back home, when Draco caught his arm in a warm hand.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and Harry shrugged.

“Do you think I’m emotionally distant?” he asked, and Draco looked at him for a long, long moment.

“Did Thomas say that to you?” he asked, carefully.

Harry nodded. “He broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, sincerely. Harry shrugged again.

He watched Draco continue to dress, sitting on his bed, not feeling anything.

“Am I weird about touching?” he asked, and Draco stopped tying his tie and sat down next to him.

“Yes,” he said, simply. “But if he made you feel as if that’s a problem and as if that’s the reason you’re emotionally distant, then that’s just plain rude.”

“How am I weird about touching?” Harry asked. He wanted to curl up somewhere and never look at another person, but – Ginny had said something similar. Harry needed to know so – he never wanted to hear that again.

Draco held out his hand and Harry took it after a moment. Draco turned their palms around and up and kissed Harry’s hand; Harry sucked in a breath.

“You hyper focus on it,” Draco said, “you’re very hesitant about initiating touch. You either hold yourself stiffly or you become very clingy.”

Harry tried to take his hand away; Draco held it tighter.

“And it’s very offensive to point it out the way he did,” Draco said, “without even asking you why you do that. Without even making it a point of discussion for the two of you to rectify somehow. Making you feel as if breaking up was solely your fault.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said. He felt very tired.

“It’s not,” Draco said, “not what he said to you. Nor that you don’t get enough touch.”

Harry tried to move away from him, but Draco still held his hand.

“How long has nobody touched you Harry?” Draco said, in the softest voice Harry had ever heard. It was low and soothing and so comforting, and Harry wanted to draw it around him like a blanket.

He shivered with it. Draco let go of his hand only to scoot closer and wrap an arm around him.

Harry could deny it of course, but he was – so tired.

“Nobody has touched me,” he said, and Draco hugged him closer. “What about when you were a child?” he asked.

“They didn’t like me,” Harry said, “they – I was a wizard, Draco.”

“I know,” Draco said, and scooted up the bed, dragged Harry with him, urged him to lay down on Draco’s chest. Both of Draco’s arms were around him now and it felt – so nice.

“They didn’t hug you because you were a wizard?” he asked, and Harry swallowed down his tears about his childhood like he had done thousands of times by now and closed his eyes.

“I was so lonely,” he heard himself say.

“Of course, you were, sweetheart,” Draco whispered. “What else could you have been?”

“My first memory is of asking for a hug and not getting one,” Harry heard himself say and he dimly wondered if Draco had put a spell on him that made him blabber like that, “I only wished for a hug when I turned four, no other presents because I knew I wouldn’t get them anyway. I had a sweater that I wrapped around me at night, as tight as I could. When Hermione hugged me for the first time, I threw up in the bathroom. I’m - Draco, I’m –“

“You’re safe,” Draco said, “you’re here with me. You’re alright. Just breathe.”

“I don’t want him to go,” Harry said, “I don’t want him to – I don’t want to be alone. Please, I don’t want to –“

“Harry, shh,” Draco said. “You don’t have to be alone, honey. You stay with me. I won’t allow you to be alone.”

“Please,” Harry said, and Draco made them sit up and looked Harry in the eyes.

“Stay here,” he said, “lay down in my bed and take a nap. I’ll give you one of my sweaters and I wrap it around you and when I come back, I’ll hug you Harry. I won’t stop hugging you at all when I come back. Will you please do that for me?”

“Okay,” Harry said. “For you.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Draco whispered, and he tucked Harry in and wrapped one of his sweaters around Harry, and when he came back, he wrapped Harry in his arms, just like he had promised and didn’t let go of him the whole night.

“I’m proud of you for telling me all that yesterday, Harry,” Draco said the next morning and Harry looked away from him, feeling shy and silly.

“Okay,” he said, not looking at Draco and Draco snorted.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he said, and Harry looked at him and pouted.

Draco grinned and then his expression turned serious.

“Did you ever think about talking to a professional about your childhood?” he asked, and Harry shrugged.

“Yes,” he admitted, “but. I don’t know – I’m really scared of the press finding out. And there are almost no mind healers to begin with.”

“Yes,” Draco said, “we’re horribly understaffed. But you grew up Muggle. You could talk to a Muggle therapist.”

“I’m scared,” Harry said to his coffee cup. A warm hand closed around his.

“I’ll help you with it,” Draco said. Harry shrugged. “Think about it,” Draco said.

 

\--

 

“I want to ask you something,” Draco said a few weeks later. The weather was lovely now, warm and sunny and Draco had turned 22 not too long ago. Harry had bought him a cake and had gifted him two of the very old books he had lusted after for weeks on some obscure magical healing topic.

He had also gotten him a life-sized stand-up of Ron that told Draco he was a smashing nice guy whenever Draco looked at it.

Draco had cried tears of laughter.

“So ask,” Harry said. They were laying in the grass of Grimmauld’s tiny backyard garden, after a dinner Draco had cooked them.

“It’s probably sensitive,” Draco mused. Harry snorted. “Doesn’t stop you usually,” he said, and Draco kicked his ankle.

“Where are Ron and Hermione?” he asked. Harry looked up at the clouds.

“Mad at me for breaking up with Ginny,” he said, “mad at me for not – doing much with my life right now. Mad at me for not moving in with them. Mad at me for not telling them where I spent my days. Mad at me for – pretty much everything.”

“Okay,” Draco said, “how about you make up with them?”

“I did start to bother you with all my invasions on your time, didn’t I?” Harry mused. Draco leaned on one elbow, looking down at him.

“No,” he said and didn’t bother with any other reassurance, “but I can tell you miss them horribly.”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted.

“So,” Draco said, “you go and make up with them.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and Draco leaned down to press a kiss against his cheek.

 

\--

 

Hermione started crying the second she opened their door and saw Harry.

“I missed you so much,” she said, and Harry pressed his face into her hair.

Ron hugged him even longer.

“Let’s never fight like this again,” Ron said and they all agreed.

 

\--

 

The bass was loud in Harry’s ears; Ginny was off kissing some dude. Harry only cared about the drink in his hand and that Hermione wouldn’t ask him again if he was really over Ginny. He only cared about Ron saying that he was still like a brother to Harry; he only wanted to keep coming to Sunday roasts at the Burrow.

He liked to pretend he had a family.

Harry knew he was maudlin, but Draco had promised him a birthday dinner tonight and had cancelled, citing an emergency at work. "I'm so freaking sorry," he had said, "I'll make it up to you with cake okay? And another present." Harry had said it wasn't a big deal. 

Harry wouldn’t care; Harry wouldn’t lose sleep over how to reconcile Draco with his other friends. He wanted Ron and Hermione to like Draco so badly, it sometimes kept him up at night, imaging how nice it would be if they all were friends.

An hour later, Ron was carrying him into St. Mungo’s, because Harry had been lying on the toilette completely unresponsive, blacked out in his own sick. It was how Hermione and Ron found out that Draco had become Harry’s friend, had been Harry’s friend for over a year. Harry was glad not to be awake for it.

His throat felt raw when he woke up and his head was pounding and there was a giant stone of dread in his stomach. Draco was sitting next to him, still in his healer robes. He leaned down to Harry’s head when he saw him blinking awake and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

“What happened Harry?” he asked, stroking his nose along Harry’s ear and in his hair, kissing him there. “Why did you go and make yourself sick, hm?”

Harry’s breath hitched; Draco lifted a hand and slowly stroked it over Harry’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, and he sounded awful and hoarse and Draco leaned down even closer, hushing him.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and Harry fell back asleep to his warm hand on his aching throat.

 

\--

 

The Prophet ran a big story on the hero of the war lying in his own sick in a Muggle club on his birthday and Grimmauld became a place of hell; Harry couldn’t set one foot outside without reporters crowding him.

Draco floo’ed in two days after Harry had been released, took one look at him and asked him to come to his flat.

“Just until the worst blows over,” he said, but Harry, still feeling so horribly ashamed didn’t want to go. Draco needled and wheedled, and, in the end, he took Harry’s wrist in his hand and said, “Harry, please, I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

“Okay,” Harry said, heart beating faster. He didn’t look at Draco. Draco gave his wrist a little shake and pushed him towards the floo. Harry was grateful that Draco was doing this for him, even though he had started to clean Grimmauld because he had noticed how Draco would invite Harry over to his place more and more often; Harry had made sure to wash his clothes and take out the trash and have groceries and for a while, Harry could almost pretend that he was normal, living in a completely normal house.

Then he would remember Sirius or Remus and it would all fall apart around him.

Harry had no idea how to create a home; Draco had one and it was nice that Harry was allowed in.

Back at Draco’s flat, Harry plopped down on his couch and watched Draco prepare breakfast in the kitchen. He came straight from his night shift; Harry knew he would have a light snack and go to sleep in about an hour, after taking a long shower to wash away the grime of the hospital.

“I want a job,” Harry heard himself say. He had read comments in the paper by people he didn’t know who claimed that he was wasting his inheritance and his talents, doing nothing. He had read comments of people saying he was probably to fucked up to hold on to a job. Draco looked at him from the open archway. “Then get one,” he said, and Harry plunged down further on the couch.

“Do you think I could get a Muggle job?” Harry asked. “I always wanted to build houses. Homes. I could maybe become an architect.”

Draco came out of the kitchen with two plates of sandwiches and pushed one at Harry, before cramming himself in next to him. His elbows were pointy, and he nudged at Harry until they were touching from shoulders to legs, a long line of heat down their sides.

“What else did you want to do as a kid?” Draco asked. Harry took a bit of his sandwich, thinking of it.

“Have dogs and train them,” he said. Draco smiled, a soft little smile that had Harry grin in response. “Become a famous football player. Go on hikes. I did one with school and I’ve never been out in nature like that and I really loved it. I tried to find places like that in Little Whinging, but I only found parks and climbed trees and fell down one and broke my ankle.”

“How did you get it healed?” Draco asked.

“Aunt Petunia wouldn’t take me to a hospital, because I came home so late, because it took me ages to walk back,” Harry said. “I fell asleep eventually and when I woke up, it was alright again.”

“How old were you?” Draco asked, very quietly now.

“I think eight. Maybe nine.” Harry said, thinking about it. The trip had been when he was seven. He still remembered a tall tree, towering over them all when they took their pre-packed lunches. Harry’s had been a dry toast and a slice of apple, but he hadn’t cared; he had looked up when he was finished quicker than anyone else with eating and listened to the tree leaves dancing in the wind and he had felt – peaceful.

“I really like trees,” Harry said. Draco finished his sandwich and stretched out, putting his head in Harry’s lap.

“So become a keeper,” he said and Harry patted his head, putting his plate on top of Draco’s on the coffee table.

“What’s that?” He asked and scratched Draco’s hair.

“Someone who takes care of trees,” Draco murmured, on the verge of sleep now. “Magical trees and forests. Sometimes animals and creatures too. But there are magical forests that have fewer of them.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. Draco’s breathing got slower. “I’m really tired,” he whispered. “Go to sleep, then,” Harry said, and Draco did.

 

 

\--

 

Because Harry stayed at Draco’s, Ron and Hermione came over.

Harry knew of course that he could have gone to them, but. Harry wanted them all to be friends so badly and hadn’t made much of an effort to go and see them.

Ron wasn’t impressed with Draco’s flat.

“Not to be too forward,” he said, and Harry winced, “but – aren’t you the richest heir in pretty much all of Europe?”

“My father is the richest man in Europe,” Draco said. “Sorry that my apprentice paycheck isn’t up to your standard, Ronald.”

Harry winced again. Hermione looked exasperated. Ron and Draco stared at each other. Then Ron grinned, slow and broad.

“So you’re not hiding some really expensive whiskey somewhere around here?” he asked and Draco grinned too, wolfishly. “Let me see what I can do for you,” he retorted.

Two hours later, they were all pretty buzzed.

Ron and Draco were getting along just fine and Harry spent time talking with Hermione who was in the middle of a long-winded rant about her boss at the Wizengamot for whom she had started working just three weeks ago.

Harry nodded along, looking at Draco mostly. He and Ron were sitting on the floor, trash-talking each other and eventually, Draco caught Harry staring, shooting him a lazy grin. “See something you like, Harry?” he asked, and to Harry’s horror, he felt himself blush.

Hermione and Ron stared at him with identical expression of revelations.

“Care to share?” Ron said, very intensely.

Draco snorted, and Harry realized with a sudden shock that he had not told him that Ron and Hermione didn’t know about – about Harry liking men.

His breathing picked up immediately. His hands started to sweat. He wanted to get up and leave. He was – they wouldn’t love him any longer. Their relationship was already stretched so thin and now – and now Harry was a poof and –

Draco’s hands were in his face.

“Count the glasses on the table for me,” he said, “Ron, get him a glass of water. Harry, how many glasses?”

“I –“ Harry said and looked at the glasses. There were six; Harry didn’t know why.

“Six,” he said, and Draco nodded. “Good, Harry,” he said, “drink your water.” Harry did. The panic passed quickly after. Draco’s hand was rubbing circles on his wrist.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked and put her hand on Harry’s back. Ron was standing behind Draco, eyes worried on Harry’s face.

“Sor –“ Harry started to say, but Draco tutted at him. “Sorry is only for when you did something wrong,” he said, calmly. They all fell silent after that. Harry sort of wanted to go to bed and hide from everything.

“I’m just going to say what I think is going on,” Ron said, “if that’s alright with you, Harry?”

Harry couldn’t look at him, staring down at his Draco’s hand on his wrist.

“The two of you are fucking,” Ron said, blunt as always. “Nope,” Draco said. “Alright,” Ron said, “Harry’s still gay, though. And I’ pretty sure, you are too.”

Harry shuddered. Draco squeezed his wrist. Hermione said, very quietly: “Harry, are you worried we – won’t be your friends anymore if you are gay?”

“Mate, I’ve known since you broke it off with Ginny,” Ron said. Hermione shook his head at him. “Give Harry some time, Ron,” she said. She wouldn’t have needed to bother. Harry couldn’t say a word, shivering like crazy now.

“Excuse me,” Draco said, “but I think – Hermione, in my bathroom dresser is a calming draught. Can you get it for me?”

Hermione came back with it quickly. Harry turned his head away, when Draco nudged his lips with the tiny bottle. He couldn’t drink something. He couldn’t make a sound; his throat was closing up so badly.

“Harry,” Draco said, very mild reproach in his voice, “what’s going on, hm? Drink this and you’ll feel better.”

Harry closed his eyes, but one single tear still slipped out. “Harry, you idiot,” Ron said. “We love you. So much. We’re not mad at you for liking men or breaking it off with Ginny or not getting a job.”

“We’re just so horribly worried about you,” Hermione said, rubbing his back. “You’ve been so unhappy. You drank yourself into alcohol poisoning. We just want you to feel better.”

“You need time, Harry” Draco said, calmly. “You couldn’t be yourself as a kid. Then you came to Hogwarts and started to prepare to kill Voldemort. You haven’t had time, yet. It’s all a bit intense for you right now, because you’re breaking away from the future everyone imagined for you, getting to know yourself without – a crisis going on. And that’s fine. That’s just alright. You don’t have to stay the person you were at Hogwarts. You can change and grow and become someone else. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, and he sounded as if he was choking and he clamped his mouth back shut.

“Shh,” Draco said, and caught him in an embrace then, put Harry’s head at the crook of his neck. Ron reached out to rub his hair. Hermione’s hand was still on his arm.

“I’m sort of fucked up,” Harry told them, and Draco huffed. “We all are,” Hermione said. “But we’ve got each other. We’ll make it through.”

 

\--

 

Ron came over a two days later with three tickets for the Chudley Channons.

“Got them from Ginny,” Ron said, eyes twinkling like mad. “They play in three hours. Kick yourselves in gear; we are not missing this.”

“I’m not sure I want to be seen at a Channons game,” Draco said, slightly horrified.

“Draco,” Ron said, “Draco. My mate. Listen to me. I don’t care _at all_. I want Harry to come. From the way Harry is lurking from your bedroom, he won’t go if you don’t go. So. You are going. You are so going. I will force you if necessary.”

“Really, Weasley?” Draco said, a slight manic twinkle to his eye. Harry stepped fully out of the bedroom then.

“You know how I am with crowds,” Harry whispered. Ron’s grin didn’t waver. He looked a bit mad.

“One word for you, Harry,” he said. “Glamouring. Glamour away. And let’s _fucking_ go.”

They went.

The crowds were big and moving and they didn’t look at them at all under their glamours. Ron screamed his head off. Draco got into the spirit. Harry threw a beer. The Channons won; they got super drunk. Ron kissed Draco to “see the appeal” and then said he didn’t see the appeal. Harry fell flat on his ass when he wanted to lean against a lamppost and missed it; Draco laughed so much he fell down too. Ron stood above them, threatening the lamppost for not being where Harry thought it would be. They saw a cat and were all convinced it was McGonagall, so they walked past it very politely. Hermione had to come and apparate them all home; Ron and Draco wanted to sleep in the same bed, because Harry had been rude to the cat and fell asleep arm in arm. In the morning, all of them regretted their lives immensely.

Still, Ron and Draco were friends after and Hermione learnt a hair spell from Draco and a few weeks later Ron and Draco went to the pub two hours earlier to chat before Harry and Hermione joined them and Harry – was so relieved, he could have cried with it.  

 

\--

 

“I think I’m,” Harry said and watched Ron turn around to give him his full attention. Harry concentrated harder on the dishes he was spelling dry after Ron had cleaned them.

“Yes?” Ron said, and Harry hesitated and then answered, in a very tiny voice. “Unhappy. With the way my life is going.”

“I thought you were happier in the last months,” Ron said, very quietly. “I thought hanging out with Draco – made you happier.”

“It does,” Harry admitted. “But - it’s just that – all of you have your life together, and I – I’m trying Ron, but I –“

“Harry,” Ron said very gently, “I love you even if you don’t have your life together. You know you can get help to – you know, get it together.”

“I’m scared of,” Harry said and gulped in a little too much air. He coughed and looked away from Ron, even more uncomfortable now. “I’m scared of it not working out. With getting help. I’m scared of still – being the way I am.”

“No way to know without you trying it,” Ron said quietly, “I’ll still be there for you even if it doesn’t work out. Hermione too. You can take time to think about it, if you don’t feel quite ready.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and they finished the washing up and they had a beer on Ron’s shitty couch and waited for Hermione and Harry ended up sleeping at their place.

 

\--

 

For their two years friendversary, as Draco said, he took them to Paris. Draco was due to move there in three weeks. Harry didn’t think about it. Couldn’t think about it.

Harry had never been abroad, and it was nice, being out with Draco and not being stared at. British tabloids were long speculating if the two were seeing each other and Harry got tired of watching out for reporters lurking everywhere to take pictures of them. He still wasn’t out for the public and he still wasn’t ready.

Draco was fluent in French and showed Harry around like a native and they strolled around in the sun at the Seine and got drunk on wine and ate cheap cheese and sat late at night on the balcony, looking at the lights of the city. They looked at flats together and Draco ended up renting a small flat with a tiny kitchen and tiny balcony, one bedroom and a small living room, but the light in the flat was great and it was conveniently located.

One evening, Draco told him of the year with Voldemort while his father had been in Azkaban; how his flesh had smelled when the Mark burned itself in. How he was at first the most treasured Death Eater when Voldemort was still wooing him, how he made him tell family secrets; what Voldemort did to him when he fell to grace. Harry had held Draco when he had started to cry, and he was so thankful that Draco had done this for him in the past, because without it, Harry wouldn’t have known how to comfort anyone at all and he wanted so, so badly to get it right with Draco.

It was in Paris that Harry realized how very irresistibly, persistently, steadfastly in love he was with Draco.

 

\--

 

With Draco gone, Harry floundered around for a while. Paris wasn’t really far away if you thought of Wizard travelling methods; Harry would probably manage to apparate doing a stop in between if France and the UK shared an open border policy. He was half-thinking to lobby for it.

Draco called him all the time, through the floo and on his mobile. They saw each other regularly.

Of course, Harry pondered asking him out, officially. He did little else at first. But the idea of upsetting what they had and then not having Draco in his life if Harry fucked this up was just too bad for Harry. He couldn’t even think about it. He pushed his love for Draco deep, deep down.

He started to look into keeper jobs and found that they interested him, deeply, immensely. A position opened in Scotland after Draco had been gone for six weeks and Harry applied. He was the only applicant; and just like that he was employed again and loved it.

The woods calmed him. He did patrol and got to learn the forest; he did research and ward work and some admin work and some more ward work. He got rained on and lost and nobody bothered him at all and – Harry loved, loved, loved it.

Draco grinned at him when he told him and said, “I’m glad.”

Hermione gifted him about 300 books on keeping and forest warding and Harry found that he suddenly enjoyed reading and researching and learning stuff.

It was in that good mood that Harry met Steve.

He was a Muggle born wizard five years older than Harry and they started dating pretty quickly.

 

\--

 

Draco didn’t approve of Steve after meeting him, but he didn’t say why. Harry introduced Steve to more and more of his friends pretty quickly, because Steve wanted them to be out and proud in their friendship circles and Harry agreed. It was time. Even if it made him nervous as hell.  

Draco still came to London regularly, but Harry stopped going to Paris. He saw less of Draco, saw him mostly when they all got together, because Steve didn’t like it when Harry just spent time with Draco or Ron by himself.

Draco kept asking to meet just Harry, to get together just the two of them, tugging him into his personal space one night after they had all had dinner together, hugging him close. Harry promised.

Steve made Harry a scene because of the hug and Harry ended up cancelling on Draco once again. It kept going like this; Harry, scared of being alone again, would make concession after concession to Steve. He didn’t like their sex life, he didn’t like Steve’s possessiveness, he didn’t like the demands on his time when he wanted to work, but he just didn’t know how to bring it up, how to talk about what he wanted or needed. It was better to have Steve than not to have Steve; if Harry asked for what he wanted, he risked not having Steve and therefore, he didn’t ask.

“I’m a bit worried about you,” Ron said when he came by while Steve was at work. “Harry, you’re – okay, listen, I talked to Draco.”

“Er?” Harry said. Ron coughed. “And Draco pointed out that maybe you – that you would find it hard to put a stop on things yourself if they weren’t what you wanted. Because of, you know, growing up – the way you did.”

“Okay?” Harry said, heart galloping.

“Harry are you happy with Steve?” Ron asked, and Harry nodded. Ron looked at him for a very long time and sighed.

Harry was an idiot.

They dated for six months. Then Draco came over for Spring Bank Holiday and they all spent it together at a pub, Harry and Steve, Ron and Hermione, Draco, Luna, George, Ginny, Dean and Seamus, Neville and Hannah.

It was nice, if Harry ignored how berating Steve was, how embarrassed everyone was by him and the things he said. Harry went to the loo at one point and caught Draco and Ron in a hushed conversation about him and like the lurker he had been at Hogwarts, he hid and listened in.

“I understand why you are saying Harry has to leave him out of his own free will, but shit Draco,” Ron hissed. “What if he doesn’t? What if he can’t? If my sister hadn’t broken if off, they would be married now. He has no – I don’t know, self-respect in that regard.”

“His needs weren’t met when he was a child,” Draco hissed, just as furiously. “He craves – touching. Belonging. Calling someone family. I want to kill that stupid waste of a human being for dangling all he wants in front of him, only to tease him with it. It must be horrible for Harry.”

“So,” Ron said, “let me arrest him. You put a poison in his coat and we claim he wanted to kill Harry. Easy as that. Let him go to Azkaban.”

“Harry would visit him and try to exonerate him,” Draco said, “he needs to understand this himself, Ron.”

“If that guy touches one hair on his body,” Ron said, angrily and Draco rubbed a hand very roughly through his face.

“Oh no,” Ron said, “oh no, Draco. Oh no no no. Do _not_ say what I think you’re going to say right now.”

“It doesn’t change anything, unless we catch him in the act, because we can't know until then,” Draco said, “we’ll have to – be understanding. Make him understand that we won’t judge. That we love him no matter what. That we will help him if he so much as whispers the word. We can’t pressure him, Ron. It’s just – more abuse. As long as we don’t actively see the guy using violence on him – we just have to wait. Let Harry know he has options.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Ron hissed, so very angrily. “What if we see him use violence though? Can we kill him then?”

“Yes,” Draco said darkly, “we will absolutely fucking kill him. We’ll kill him so hard. The things Bellatrix used to do – they will fucking pale in comparison.”

“Good,” Ron said, “fuck, I hate this,” and they went back to the table and Harry followed them a few moments later, heart beating like crazy. Steve smiled at him all gently when Harry sit down and pressed a kiss against his nose and Harry tried to – relax. It was fine. It was all fine.

Draco took Harry aside when they were all getting to a point when tipsy tipped into drunk. He loosely circled Harry’s wrist and looked him in the eyes. “You look unhappy,” he said, bluntly. “You look very worried, Harry. Are you alright?” Harry swallowed, nodding.

Draco just looked at Harry. “You do deserve to be happy, Harry,” he said, very quietly.  

Harry hesitated, torn. He fidgeted, and Draco shook his wrist, carefully. “Can we really meet soon and talk? Just the two of us? You’ve been cancelling on me Harry. For almost four months.”

“Steve doesn’t like you,” Harry whispered. Draco’s nose briefly flared and for a moment, he looked absolutely livid, before schooling his expression. “Why doesn’t he like me?” Draco asked, calmly. Harry shrugged. “Okay,” Draco said, “but if you still like me, then – then you should be able to see me. You can decide what to do with your time. Harry?”

Harry was still lost for words when Steve stepped up to them. “Sorry, I’ve got to steal Harry,” he said, pleasantly, reaching for Harry, “come with me, babe, I want to show you something.”

Harry knew that tone. He had only heard it once so far and that was the evening Steve had fucked him without lube, without prep, telling him to take it, slapping him in the face when Harry tried to get away.

He followed Steve outside the bar, heart hammering. Steve invaded his personal space immediately. “Should I ask him to share you with me?” he asked, “do want to get fucked by a Death Eater Harry? Are you begging for it like the slut you are?”

Harry shook his head no, and Steve advanced closer, closed his hand over Harry’s wrist. It felt nothing like it felt when Draco did it.

Apparating took Harry by surprise; Steve had taken them directly to Grimmauld. He wanted to sell the house and buy them something nicer, a stylish flat somewhere trendy, he said, where they could entertain better.

Steve’s hand was still on his wrist. He dragged Harry over towards the kitchen, whistling.

The instinct kicked in all at once; Harry knew that he had to get away.

“Let go of me,” he said, and Steve drew around and punched him on the nose. Blood filled Harry’s mouth.

“Shut up, you bitch,” Steve shrieked and – the bell rang. Insistently.

“Open up,” Ron shouted from outside. “Right fucking now, Steve.”

Steve stared at Harry and Harry’s heart was beating slowly, like it was withering just under that look. He was scared. He wanted Draco or Ron or Hermione.

Steve plastered a pleasing smile on his face and let go of Harry, coming close towards his face. “You make a sound, Harry,” he said, very charmingly, “and you will regret it.”

Ron and Draco were on Harry’s front steps. He heard them talking, asking Steve why the fuck they had left like that, with Harry’s coat and wand still at the pub. Where’s Harry they asked, and Steve claimed that he was sleeping, hadn’t felt well. Ron’s voice rose. Steve’s voice rose.

Draco had said _you deserve to be happy._

Draco saw him first and all blood drained out of his face. “He fell like the clumsy idiot he is,” Steve said, but Ron was already calling in back-up, already pointed his wand straight at Steve, already telling him that he was arrested.

Draco’s neck was warm when he carefully pressed Harry’s face against it.

“I’ll heal that for you in a second,” he said, “once they have taken evidence pictures. You’re safe, Harry. We’ve got you. He will never hurt you again.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. He sounded very – dead. Steve was saying things to him, screaming at Harry to tell them that he had simply slipped. “Stop talking to him,” Draco said, in a quiet, deadly voice. His arms were holding Harry closely and he moved them further into the house, away from Steve. More Aurors arrived, but Draco spelled the kitchen door shut and warded it. Draco held Harry for a long, long time, whispering _not your fault, you deserve better, you’re safe now, I’ll help you._

 

\--

 

That should have been the end there, but Harry woke up a week later and saw Steve’s face on the Prophet front page. _The twisted truth about the boy who lived twice,_ screamed at him and it was all there. Private things about Dumbledore and Voldemort and his life, that Harry had told Steve in their first weeks of dating, when it all seemed like a fairytale to Harry, Steve so loving and attentive. Things they did in the bedroom that Steve painted as if Harry had wanted them, the tying up and the edging and the BDSM, even though it was Steve who had made Harry do it. How needy and desperate Harry was, how unstable. “I think he’s too powerful to walk free without supervision,” Steve said, “and he’s in a very weird friendship group. I mean, Draco Malfoy is a convicted Death Eater. I’ve always wondered – they are all very close. Almost cult-like. You don’t want to know what the Golden Trio and their friends do behind closed doors.”

The fallout that followed was crazy. 

Harry had supporters of course, but he got so much hate mail and howlers for being gay, for liking it in the ass, for befriending Draco, for the things he had told Steve in private about Dumbledore. He could go nowhere at all without being followed. One reporter managed to follow him into Grimmauld before the wards ejected him again, confused on whether or not Harry had brought him in on purpose and Harry had such a bad panic attack, he passed out from it. Someone set a small fire to his forest that was thankfully easy to put out; his wards were tested day and night. Men and women offered themselves to be his masters or slaves.

Draco begged him to come to Paris, but Harry couldn’t. “He’s got a mile-wide crush on Draco Malfoy,” Steve had said, and the Prophet had printed it. “It’s pathetic, really. Draco is my family, he used to say. I would do anything for him. He didn’t have to say it, but it was clear that that included spreading his legs.”

Harry could never look Draco in the eyes again or Ron (“still trying to step out of his brothers’ shadows,” Steve had said) or Hermione (“so desperately wanting to be successful you can practically taste it,” Steve had said). Harry was alone now.

He went to his woods after three weeks of it, close to breaking down. Draco turned 24 and Harry didn’t congratulate him. Harry turned 24; by then he was so run-down, he cried for a whole day underneath a gorgeously big oak tree.

Draco’s eagle owl found him in the forest. The card was tiny; Harry hesitated for a long, long time before opening it.

 _You’re my family, too,_ Draco had written. _He can’t take that from us. You didn’t tell him any secrets that mattered. It’s not your fault. I love you. Please come back to me._


	3. Chapter 3

Harry doesn’t think about anything until he reaches the Ministry. He doesn’t think about anything when he floos to London, when he goes to the apparition point and when he apparates to his forest.

He hasn’t been since Olie was born; there’s a little ripple of thought in him when he thinks Olie’s name, but he pushes it down.

After the war, everything was too loud for Harry. He craved the stillness of his cupboard at night without ever having to return to the cupboard for it. He craved a job that allowed him to just be out and think, without much interaction with people. He didn’t want to keep hearing other people’s war stories; he didn’t want to be told that people were grateful to him.

It’s been a lot of trial and error and a lot of unemployment, but eventually Harry got a job as keeper. Hagrid was after all the first friend he ever made and while Harry didn’t share his enthusiasm for animals, he had come to like both the Forbidden Forest and the Forest of Dean.

His forest is in Scotland; it’s not big. Muggles and Wizards have cut away big parts of it; the rest is under wards Harry spent ages setting up. The magic here is old; most of the time, Harry’s job is simply to figure out to understand the magic to help the forest keeping itself safe. He’s mostly working with potion suppliers, tries to grow rare plants and mushrooms that are needed or tries to find them himself in the forest. He cuts the trees whenever necessary and apart from that he leaves the forest pretty much alone.

Harry loves that job, loves the craziness of it, the weird and mysterious things he keeps seeing. He loves the variation, doing research, then doing admin work, then doing patrol and actually putting the research to use. Without being in the woods for a long period of time, Harry has started to feel just a tiny bit unsettled, as if a part of him is waiting somewhere and he can’t reach it.

He doesn’t go far that day, just to his semi-permanent camp. Nobody can enter the forest without Harry letting them through the wards; he’s never even brought anyone, because the magic of the place is so unstable. Draco can’t come here, but Harry doesn’t think of that.

He sleeps out under the stars under a heating charm. The next day he wanders for hours, inspects the borders and wards. He doesn’t think of Olie or Draco; he just keeps going.

His body catches up with him in the evening; everything hurts. He’s pretty sure his ass is bleeding again; he’s in pain everywhere.

When he wakes the next morning, his nipples are so sore and full he whimpers with every rub of them against his shirt.

He lies still for a long moment. His nipples make it impossible not to think about it; the baby and Draco alone in the flat in Paris. Draco probably guesses he’s here. It’s still early and back at home, Draco will brew a coffee while Olie is sleepy on his shoulders, smacking his lips.

A bad Dad would have probably lost his temper with Olie, Harry thinks. A bad Dad would have put him in a cupboard and not take him out until he stopped screaming.

He’s still sure that he’s not a good one, but maybe he’s good enough to go back and check on them. He’s worried suddenly, terribly worried about Olie’s food; Harry is sort of Olie’s food right now. What if he hasn’t had food in the last two days? Draco would never allow that, Harry knows, but the thought is awful.

He packs up the camp again, leaves the forest. The wards are in good condition; as are the trees, as if they know that Harry needs time right now, that Harry can’t take care of them right now. There is no real reason for him to stay longer and so he leaves.

He makes the exact same journey back to Paris, hesitates a long moment before opening the door.

The flat is a mess. It’s untidy, but Harry has the impression that something more happened here; it looks as if somebody trashed the place and didn’t try hard with the repair spells after.

It’s still fairly early in the morning; Draco isn’t in the kitchen or the living room. The door to the bedroom is closed; Harry opens it carefully.

Draco has curled himself around Olie, who’s sleeping peacefully. Draco isn’t. His face is pale, and his eyes are rimmed in red and his body is wound up so tight, looking at him hurts. He doesn’t turn around when Harry enters; doesn’t react when Harry sits down next to him.

Harry puts a hand on his shoulder. Draco heaves in a breath.

“Promise me,” he says, “to never do that again. If you need time off, all you need to do is tell me. But not – you can’t just vanish from our flat.”

“Draco,” Harry starts but Draco shakes his head. “Promise,” he says.

“I promise,” Harry says and Draco heaves in a breath and another, his breathing sounding woozy and pained and shuttered.

“Okay,” he says and closes his eyes, before his face sort of crumples and then he’s crying, turning away from Harry when Harry tries to touch him.

“I don’t understand how you could do this to me,” he says, and he’s crying harder and Olie wakes up and stares at them both.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, “I wasn’t thinking.”

“I was so scared you wouldn’t come back,” Draco heaves out between tears and Harry’s heart constricts painfully. “I don’t – please don’t leave me,” Draco pleads, and Harry reaches out again. This time Draco allows him to hold him close, and Harry slides pretty much on top of him, buries him underneath his own body. He reaches out a hand to Olie and just rests it on their child’s tiny chest.

“I’m not a good Dad, Draco,” Harry explains, because he’s never been good at inflicting pain and it’s the worst when he does it to Draco. He can be honest in this, even if it rips his heart out. He can be brave admitting this if it lessens some of the horror Draco must be feeling, if he can make him understand that this is about Harry, not Draco. “I’m not a good Dad and I don’t – I don’t want to cause him pain because of it.”

Draco just cries harder; the tears turn into sobs and it breaks Harry’s fucking heart.

“Harry,” he says. “Harry.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says. “But I’m – I’m not sure I can do this, Draco.”

“Harry,” Draco says again. “You’re – you’re sick right now. It makes you – you’re not thinking straight. You’re not a bad Dad at all.”

“But,” Harry says, calmly, “I am.”

“Oh God.” Draco turns away from Harry, pushes at Harry until he lets him up and stumbles towards the bathroom. Harry hears heaving but no splashing sounds and then the tap runs for a long moment. He uses the time to study Olie. Olie’s bright eyes look back at him and his perfect little mouth that’s a complete replica of Harry’s own starts to tremble and Harry picks him up and shushes him before he can start bawling. “Hey baby,” he says and kisses Olie’s ear and the baby lets his head thump forward against Harry’s face. Harry hugs him closer.

“Harry,” Draco says from the doorway. “What do you think makes a Dad a bad Dad?”

He’s not sure what makes a good Dad or a bad Dad. He didn’t exactly have examples for any kind of Dad. But if your baby cries for hours and you can’t calm it down, you must be doing something wrong.

He tells Draco that. Draco looks pained.

“That’s not – _Harry,”_ he says and then his face crumples again and he’s crying again.

“Sorry,” Harry says, preemptively. Draco’s shoulders cave in and down as if he’s trying to hide from whatever comes out of Harry’s mouth.

Olie tries to get to Harry’s nipples and Harry hesitates. Allowing him to nurse seems weird when you are in the process of sort of breaking up with your baby’s other daddy and when you want to leave said baby behind for its own good.

Olie makes another wiggle downwards and Harry cradles him in his arm and lifts his shirt and Olie lodges on immediately. It’s a relief if Harry is honest. His nipples were never particularly sensitive and now no day goes by when he’s not somehow occupied with them. It’s weird.

Draco watches them not saying anything. He’s still crying, just a tiny bit.

“A bad Dad,” he says, “that would be someone who willingly hurts their child. Who doesn’t care about their child’s health or happiness or safety. Someone who would always make their child feel interior and not up to standards. Someone who puts their child in a cupboard and doesn’t allow him to have food. That’s a bad Dad.”

“Arthur always knew if something was wrong with Ron or Ginny,” Harry counters, stubbornly.

“Well ask him if the same applied to Bill or if that was something he learnt with time,” Draco snaps. “A child is more than its needs, Harry. You can learn its needs. Learning how to love your child if you don’t – that’s much harder.”

Harry looks down at Olie who looks up at him. His eyes are still a pretty undefinable color; somehow grey, somehow blue, somehow green. He’s pretty. He’s so goddamn fucking pretty, and perfect Harry could cry with it.

“He wouldn’t stop crying,” Harry says. “I didn’t know – I didn’t understand what was wrong.”

“I don’t either,” Draco says, “some days are just like this. There doesn’t have to be any reason for him to not feel fine some days.”

“You came home, and he stopped crying. You just picked him up and he stopped and you – you wouldn’t even look at me.” Harry can’t look at Draco now, only studies their baby’s eyes. Draco makes a sound that sounds as if Harry slapped him in the face.

“Harry,” he says, desperately, “he – he likes you just as much. You’ve been run down. I came in and I was calm and that – that helped him. He’s three months. He doesn’t have a favorite.”

“Between us, you’re my favorite too,” Harry says. No point in not saying it if he was already thinking it.

“Please,” Draco says and he’s crying again. “Harry. He’s three months. He will at one point probably play favorites to push us and test us – but. He’s a baby. He had a bad day and he got you worked up and then none of you could calm down. That’s all it was.”

“Harry, please,” he says when Harry doesn’t answer. Olie takes his mouth away from Harry’s chest to look at Draco and Harry uses that moment to lay him back down. Olie’s face scrunches up and his mouth trembles and Harry. Harry turns away and gets up. It’s breaking his fucking heart, but it’s better this way. He refuses to fuck up his baby.

“No,” Draco pleads. He sounds as if something died in his throat.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says and wants to walk to the door, but Draco makes a sound as if – Harry isn’t sure. But it’s horrible. Olie starts to cry.

“Please,” Draco says. It’s all he manages. Harry shakes his head. “I don’t want to fuck him up,” he says and Draco’s whole face crumples again. Olie cries harder.

“Just,” Draco says with effort, “just wait. Let us talk. Please.”

“Okay,” Harry amends because Draco looks horrible. Harry only feels horrible calmness. His therapist probably has a lot to say about Harry being able to remain calm when he forsakes himself the one thing he wants more than anything in this world, but well. Harry will take what he can get. One of them has to keep it together and Harry can only go through with this, if that’s him. He will fall apart horribly afterwards.

Draco goes to get Olie and Olie keeps crying and Draco shushes him, but he looks desperate and Harry looks at them, thinks of the things Draco said to him about getting worked up and staying calm.  

Harry likes experiments. It’s a big part of why he loves his job. Doing science was his favorite subject at primary school. He would have loved potions if Snape hadn’t been who he had been, he’s sure of it.And so, he goes to take Olie from Draco. Olie’s pretty much screaming now, Draco is crying like crazy and Harry is completely calm. He takes the baby and cradles him against his neck and then, after just a moment, Olie hiccups and calms down.

It’s maybe the most significant moment of Harry’s life.

“Oh,” he says. Draco shakes his head at him, looking so worn down that it finally sinks in for Harry, what he did to Draco. What he almost was about to do, just now, too.

“I’m not good at this,” he says and means it all. Raising a kid, building trust, trusting himself to take care of others. There’s a reason Harry only managed to become friends with one person in his adult life and there’s a reason that person became the most important person in Harry’s life. It’s not very flattering for him.

“You are just fine at it,” Draco says, wiping his face. “You are just – you should maybe read a bit. Talk to Ron and Arthur.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says. Olie has a fist in his hair now and Harry turns his head to kiss his tiny face. Olie squeaks in delight and Harry blows a raspberry against his throat.

“Next time just talk to me, ok?” Draco says and goes to take a shower and Harry goes to the kitchen to make him a coffee.

 

\--

 

It has left a big scar on Draco, Harry leaving like that. They don’t talk about it, but Harry can see it, knows it from the way Draco is nervous and unsure around him, how he overcompensates by being snarky and witty and just a tad dramatic. He tries to have sex with Harry to make it better, but Harry declines, not ready for it, knowing Draco’s motivation.

Draco never knew how to deal with being hurt at school, but he did get better at it. It hurts to see him fall back into old behaviors. Harry’s feeling so fucking guilty, but he needs to power through it, can’t fold under it. He owes it to Draco to not be selfish right now, to not let his guilt come between them. He owes it to Draco to not be the needy one right now.

Harry only knows one way to make it better, to reassure and it’s not through words. He knows words are important to Draco, but what matters most to him, what he missed most when he was a kid was steadfastness.

Harry usually is very steadfast in his relationship with Draco, in life in general. It’s probably one of his best qualities. He had a lapse in it when he left their home like that, but he tells himself not to be too hard on himself. Raising a baby is all new to him. It’s something he never thought he would do, and he certainly didn’t think he would have to do it without any kind of warning.

He wonders a little, if this wasn’t a part of his pregnancy. Knowing that Harry didn’t want to have a child made the child hide himself, so it could be born.

He reads up first, no matter how long it takes, because Harry is not a good reader. He takes some notes and then he goes and sees Arthur and Molly with Olie. It’s a nice afternoon; Molly is besotted with the baby and Arthur is too, though he hides it better.

He asks them, how they did it at first and Arthur laughs and says, “trial and error;” and Molly laughs and says, “chocolate, crying and hoping it would all work out.”

“Bill was a cry baby,” Arthur says, “when he was six months I was so exhausted I went to work to sleep – not to work.”

“I told myself not another,” Molly said, “I regretted not simply training as a nurse. I thought it would be easier than what I was doing.”

“Did you ever feel as if you were failing?” Harry asks, looking at Olie who is besotted with Molly’s red hair.

“Oh my dear, all the time,” Molly says, “but then they laugh at you or come to get cuddles or say Mommy I love you with such earnestness and it makes it alright. You watch them sleep at night and you are filled with this – tenderness. You would do anything for them, no matter how hard.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. Draco was right; he doesn’t need to learn to love Olie; he loves him alright already; knowns exactly what Molly is talking about.

Back at home, he makes sure that Olie is already asleep before Draco comes in. He’s working late today which works in Harry’s favor and Olie is tired after a day spent flooing around the UK and France.

When Draco comes in, Harry goes and takes his jacket from him, cups his neck and cheeks for a moment. He gets them dinner and they have it on the couch and after dinner, Harry sits on Draco’s lap, legs resting on either side of him.

They look at each other for a very long moment, before Harry leans down to kiss him.

“How are Arthur and Molly?” Draco asks when they break apart.

“You were right,” Harry says, “I love him. I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t get what the problem was. It wasn’t him at all. It was all me, feeling unwanted because of my helplessness, and you know – how I can’t deal with that.”

Draco shudders underneath him, clutching him hard.

“I’m also extremely happy he’s not a cry baby or colicky, now that I know what these things are,” Harry says and Draco snorts, but it’s watery. They kiss again. Harry slides down between Draco’s leg. When he comes, Draco clutches him so hard he rips out several strands of hair from Harry’s head.

At night, they promise each other to talk about it more.

 

\--

 

The next time it happens, it’s all easier.

Olie cries himself into a circle and Harry panics before remembering – he isn’t alone in this. He firecalls Draco and Draco steps through the floo and kisses Harry, Olie already calming down now that Harry is calming down and then they have a coffee and Olie falls asleep for a nap. Draco takes him to their bedroom and Harry relocates to the couch.

Draco is back a moment later, kneeling down in front of Harry. His hands are warm and gentle when they cup Harry’s face, stroking back Harry’s hair. It’s too long and shaggy but Harry didn’t have time to cut it in the last months; Harry was too busy figuring out how to be a Dad.

His nipples ache; Olie didn’t drink from him the whole morning, and Harry scratches at them until Draco slaps his hands away and pins them down, vanishes Harry’s sweaty shirt and leans forward to suck one nipple after the other in his mouth, sucking just enough to take the ache away. Harry lets him; Harry barely breaths; Harry is so very thankful that Draco does that for him.

It’s also freaking arousing, which is confusing but good too in a way, to allow Draco to do this.

Harry has been afraid to open up to Draco, talk about how deep his feelings of being useless run. Harry knows that having no self-confidence in taking care of people is a direct result from his childhood; Harry knows Draco will never judge him, will tell him to take his time, keep going to therapy and he’ll get better; Draco said more than once that he didn’t even expect Harry to deal or function well after the labor, after the surprise he had.

But sitting here with Draco who is so understanding and so gentle and who’s still willing to work it out with Harry after Harry left him like that, Harry finds telling Draco all of it suddenly easy, even telling him things he hasn’t yet told his therapist. It’s not about therapy but about sharing the burden and Draco tells him things he finds hard with Olie and it all hurts a little less. It’s easy, suddenly, there in the stillness of the apartment on a gloriously sunny October day with the noise of the street down below floating up to them. Draco listens and Harry’s right; he doesn’t judge at all.

Instead he does this, leans in close to Harry, eyes so warm and soft and full of something Harry can only call love.

“You’ve been doing so well,” Draco whispers while he kisses Harry, while he runs his lips over the stubble on Harry’s chin, “I am so incredibly proud of you for handling it all so well. I’ll cut my hours more Harry; I’m sorry for not being here with you as much as you needed.”

“Draco,” Harry says and arches up in his touch and he wants suddenly, heat pooling in his stomach and lower. Draco takes him into his mouth without even using a cleaning spell, guides Harry’s hands in his hair to direct and pull and Harry aches, thrusts into the wet heat around him until Draco pulls off with a plop, rearranges Harry easily to rim him.

Harry loves rimming; Harry would write poetry to rimming if he could. Draco doesn’t care about it very much, but Harry does so, _so_ much and it feels so good even though he is still so tender. But Draco is careful, Draco keeps looking up, Draco goes slow and it feels so brilliant, especially when he starts to use his hand on Harry’s dick too and everything goes hot and hotter, and then –

Olie starts crying in the next room.

Draco doesn’t let Harry go; the crying tapers off abruptly and Harry knows Draco cancelled the noise from reaching them and that’s not right, but he is _right there_ and Draco twists his hand just perfectly and digs his tongue in deep and then two of his clever fingers reach up to rub so very carefully over Harry’s tender nipple and Harry comes so hard he has to doze through Draco cleaning him up with a spell, tugging his pants back up and throwing the quilt over him without helping at all.

“Please get the baby,” Harry mumbles at him and Draco kisses him before coming back with Olie a moment later. Olie is in his tiny onesie, sucking on his pacifier sleepily when Draco nudges Harry to scoot over; Draco wrenches himself underneath Harry, rests the baby in the cradle of their chests, nudges Olie up until he finds Harry’s nipple and sucks on it, slowly falling back asleep.

“He was crying so much again,” Harry says after a long moment of watching Olie’s golden lashes flatter in sleep; his tiny blond brows drawing together. Draco simply kisses Harry’s forehead.

“I didn’t know what was wrong with him again,” Harry says, “I understand that he might simply be fussy today but what – what would we do if something was wrong with him and I wouldn’t notice?”

Draco draws in a big breath at that, and then another, resting his lips against Harry’s brow.

“Listen to me,” he says, “Harry. You would notice. If he was sick, you would know. Don’t doubt that.”

“But what if –“ Harry starts to say and Draco shushes him.

“I know that you worry,” he says into Harry’s hair, “and postpartum depression does not make it easier for you. But you must know that I fully trust you to be capable of taking care of our child. You’re not – Harry, you are _not_ the same person you were five or six years ago, and you are not at the beginning of therapy when it’s natural to be unstable. You are doing so well. You will notice if something is seriously wrong with him, I promise.”

“We’ll figure it out?” Harry says and allows himself to be hopeful; Draco hasn’t let him down once since they’ve been 21; not when it mattered.  

“We will, Harry,” Draco promises, and Harry falls asleep safely wrapped into Draco’ arms.

 

\--

 

After Harry’s big freak-out, Draco’s does most of the cooking and shopping and caring for Olie for a few days. Harry feels like shit in the meantime, his body acting up again after his wandering through the forest, everything hurting and aching. He can barely sleep at all.

Draco decides to invite Hermione and Ron along with Rose, telling Harry that they both need a break from their daily routines. “It will do us good,” he says, decisively, and Harry feels that he agrees when Rose peers down at Olie and announces that she doesn’t like babies. Ron does a full body wince; Hermione says _oh my_ underneath her breath. Harry is instantly suspicious but doesn’t yet ask.

They bundle the kids up and go to a park and Draco gets everyone ice-cream. It’s still a golden autumn, though the days are turning shorter and darker now. Rose asks Ron to swing her and he and Draco both go with the kids, while Hermione and Harry sit down at one of the benches, soaking in the sun.

“You seem happier,” Hermione comments, “Molly said you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather a few days back.”

Harry nods. He doesn’t know if anyone knows what he has done to Draco and Olie. He kind of wants to bring it up but he isn’t sure – how.

“Draco called us, you know,” Hermione says after a moment. “When you – you know. Left.”

Harry closes his eyes. That’s so Draco; not telling Harry that he called them to protect Harry from the pain of what Harry has done.

“He was crying,” Hermione says, “he was really – scared. Ron went to see him the next day and said that the place was – trashed. Draco was – he was saying that he had pressured you into accepting the baby by not talking about adoption or something like that. He was – really, really worried you wouldn’t come back, Harry.”

“I don’t know,” Harry begins. His voice feels like gravel. “How to – how to take care of Olie. I don’t – the problem isn’t that I don’t love him because I do. So much. He – I could never give him up for adoption or something like that. Never. It’s just – Hermione, all I ever knew was a cupboard. I don’t want to fuck him up like the cupboard fucked up me.”

Hermione takes Harry’s hand and Harry doesn’t look at her.

“You know how to take care of people,” she says, “you take care of me. Of Ron. Of Ginny. And of Draco. And you do it well. You know how to do it. It’s just harder because babies are the worst. Literally. I love Rose to death, but there were days when I needed to go out of the room and scream for five minutes.”

“Really?” Harry asks, suddenly so relieved he feels himself go boneless with it. He should have – he should have gone to see Ron and Hermione. He was scared of what they would say, but he should have known. They make everything better.

“Oh, really,” Hermione says, “you know how I pride myself in understanding things. I have self-confidence because I’m smart. But being smart doesn’t help you with taking care of a screaming infant. It was really hard for me to rationalize her needs at first. I thought I was a bad Mom if she kept screaming when I held her.”

“I love you so much for saying all of this right now,” Harry says, because he does.

“I love you too,” Hermione says, so easily. “It’s good to have someone to talk about this. Ron was much better in calming her down, you know. She probably knew how stressed out I was. But it made it hard for me to open up to Ron about it. I wanted it to be easy and when it wasn’t, it kind of floored me. There was never anything that wasn’t easy for me, you know.”

“Can’t say the same about myself,” Harry says and Hermione laughs.

“Draco thinks I have postpartum-depression,” Harry says after a moment, watching Ron holding Olie while Draco pushes Rose. “I’m – I mean I probably do, but. I didn’t think it would be dragged up again. The whole cupboard thing.”

“You start to realize what a loving childhood is,” Hermione says very quietly, “when you have a child and want it to be loved. I think back to all the things I used to do with my Mom and Dad and that I loved and that made me – me. Reading to me every afternoon with a hot chocolate. Going to watch a Dickins play before Christmas. Having pancakes for breakfast whenever neither of my parents needed to work on a Sunday. And then I imagine the things that I want to do with Rose. These kinds of things, these kind of traditions and rituals that I still remember because they were important to me and I want to do the same things with Rose because they made my childhood happy. It must be hard not to – have these things. To remember. To guide you.”

“Yeah,” Harry says after a very long moment. “I haven’t thought about that. But. Yeah. That’s – actually that’s awfully right.”

They both look at their kids in silence.

“Do you think I – I’ll still manage?” Harry asks, because he has to.

“Yes,” Hermione says, simply and grins when Harry nudges her. “You are loving Harry. Draco is loving. You have us. It will all work out. You’ll make your own rituals.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, throat constricted.

“I’m pregnant again, by the way,” Hermione says, and Harry presses her hand and she smiles. “Let’s hope this time, I don’t spend half of my pregnancy at St. Mungo’s.”

“I’m pretty sure St. Mungo’s is hoping the same,” Harry says and Hermione laughs.

They go out for dinner that night; it’s Olie’s first time ever in a real restaurant and he’s completely mesmerized, giggling and shrieking in joy. Harry tries to calm him down, but it’s a lost cause; people are soon looking at them and Harry wants to shrink away; he hates attention and wishes fervently that their child was Rose, who has been sleeping in her pram since they walked in, like a perfect little curly-haired angel.

“Now, now,” Draco says and floats one of his magic animals over to Olie. Harry starts to understand why he insisted on a Wizarding establishment even though they all love Muggle food, too, because Olie immediately falls into the raptured staring he always falls into. He’s more than a little obsessed with his magic animals.

“Neat,” Ron says, “we’ll need to learn that.”

“Why?” Draco asks, instantly suspicious.

“I’m pregnant again,” Hermione says and Ron grins wide and Draco congratulates them, and Harry does again too and then Ron and Hermione start talking about all the things they need to change when they have two kids and it’s – so nice, Harry thinks, to grow like this with each other.  

 

\--

 

Ron calls Harry a day after they’ve seen each other. “If this is about Rose’s blanket you forgot here, Draco already send it with an owl,” Harry says, balancing a sleeping Olie on one shoulder and the phone on his other ear. He sits down on the couch.

“No, we’ve got it, thanks,” Ron says, “it’s about something else. When – you became friends with Draco, right?”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, hesitantly.

“You wanted us to become friends, too, remember?” Ron asks. It’s rhetorical, so Harry only hums. “And we’ve become that. Friends,” Ron continues. “In fact, I would consider Draco one of my very closest friends, you know. On one level with – basically you and Hermione, even if our friendship is different.”

“That’s nice,” Harry says. “That’s – I’m glad for it.”

“Me too, Harry,” Ron says, “which is why I’ve got to say – if you ever do something like that to Draco again, I will kill you.” Harry feels very hot all of a sudden. “Ron,” he says, unsure and Ron sighs.

“I’m really sorry, Harry,” Ron says. “But I’ve seen him. He was completely losing it, and mate, I really still don’t understand why you did that to him when you turned 27. But now you two have a baby and your relationship isn’t traditional and all that jazz, and Olie was a complete surprise, but you’ve got to _stop_. You have to figure it out or one of you will get hurt so badly. You love each other. I see how you look at him. I just don’t understand – why you wouldn’t just want to be with him, mate.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks, completely confused now. Ron sighs.

“Look, if this is because of Steve – Draco isn’t Steve. Draco is pretty much the opposite of Steve. He will treat you so well. He already treats you so well. If you don’t want him that way, you need to stop stringing him along. And you definitely cannot just leave without talking to him. He was – Harry, I was about to bring him to HMG, he was so badly off.”

Harry’s heart is beating a mile wide by now.

“Harry?” Ron asks. Harry swallows. “Okay,” he says, unsure of what else to say.

“Oh, Harry,” Ron says, sadly. “I know you trust him. Why can’t you fully trust him with your heart?”

Harry’s lost for words, wants to say that it’s Draco who doesn’t trust Harry, but he can’t. He’s missing something; he has known for years that he needs to talk to Draco about his 27th birthday and the old fear rises up in him again, fear he doesn’t understand, fear that somehow feels primal and instinctive and non-rational.  

From all the clues he got over the years, Harry must have asked Draco to be exclusive and Draco didn’t want it, must in fact have been insulted by the imposition that they could be together like that. No other explanation makes sense. Harry can understand it; he’s a needy, complicated person. He has so many issues, but he thought – that Draco would be willing to deal with them. That Draco loved Harry nonetheless.

“Harry?” Ron says again, and Harry’s almost crying now. “I don’t know,” he says, and Ron must hear how bad he’s doing; Ron sighs deeply. “I’m sorry, mate,” he says, “I love you Harry. I’m sorry. I just – I want what’s best for you and what’s best for Draco and I just don’t understand why you think you are not best for each other.”

“I’ve got to go,” Harry says; he can barely breathe.

“Alright,” Ron says, very gently and Harry keeps sitting on the couch until Olie wakes back up.

 

\--

 

Having a baby manages to be both life-changing in the big ways and a lot less life-changing in the small ways.

It’s both completely overwhelming and humbling; it’s similarly the hardest and the easiest thing Harry has ever done and once Olie turns six months and Harry starts to feel like himself again, he can start to appreciate it more and more.

It’s easiest when Olie is a slippery soapy little bundle of joy during bath time or when he grabs Draco’ hair and eats it or when he cries with happiness when Harry spins him around. It’s also easiest when he’s sleepy and cuddly and in the mornings when Draco makes Harry breakfast and sings to Oli in his floating bassinet (and now Harry can laugh about the heart-attack he had the first time he saw that thing).

It’s hardest when Harry just gets overwhelmed by it all from time to time, when the baby cries and Draco isn’t home from work for another three hours and Harry’s post labor body hurts everywhere, when Harry cannot just get up and have a therapy session. It’s a new fact of his life; Harry’s body is fucked up now, is still healing. He’s not even sure he can ever have penetrative sex again; Draco just shrugged and said they would know with time, but Harry can’t be as nonchalant about it.

Today is one of the harder days and Harry lays in bed with a restless, teething Olie in his arms. The bad days are so much less frequent now and Harry is so much better at dealing with them and so Olie and he just hang out and cuddle and while Olie protests from time to time and cries just a little, neither of them gets as worked up as they used to. They are both half asleep when Draco comes home, and Harry doesn’t even open his eyes when Draco trails his lips softly over his face.

“Mes deux petits bébés pauvres,” Draco whispers and then picks up Olie when he starts to fuss again. “Sleep, Harry,” he warns when Harry tries to open his eyes too, and Harry only wakes up three hours later, to a pot of soup simmering on the oven and Olie and Draco playing smashing things in a little privacy bubble to keep the noise down.

He watches them for a while; he loves to watch Draco with Olie, especially when Draco doesn’t know he’s being watched. It just does something for Harry, seeing Draco so fond and gentle and tender with a tiny human that came out of Harry and that none of them was expecting at all.

Draco’s on his back holding Olie in the air and letting him fly down to press kisses against his face, which is one of Olie’s most favorite games when Draco catches sight of Harry looking at them and dissolves the privacy screen.

“Spying on us again?” he teases, and Harry says, very quietly, “I just can’t get enough of the two of you,” and Draco gets this weird look on his face, intense and decisive and soft and stands up in one fluid motion to go with Olie to Harry and to kiss him.

“Good,” he says, and Harry has the feeling he’s holding himself back from saying more, but he doesn’t ask, just leans his head against Draco’s shoulder.

 

\--

 

The news headline splatters all over Harry a short while later; the unexpected birth, Draco being the Dad, Harry’s health – it’s all there in the Prophet which Harry still receives simply because he is too lazy to cancel his subscription. He’s half-relieved not to see anything on postpartum depression; he isn’t ready to talk about that with anyone else than Draco or his therapist or Hermione.

Draco is still in the shower; Harry has to sit down, Olie floating in his bassinet close-by.

It’s too detailed; someone Harry trusts must have talked to the Prophet; Draco’s whole flat is better warded than Hogwarts and Harry has barely been outside. He skims the article, searching and then is eyes fall on the only hint on the informant; a close French friend of Draco Malfoy, the article says.

Hénry, Harry thinks and feels as if he can’t breathe.

Draco comes out of the shower whistling, takes one look at Harry’s face and is at his side in a second. Harry hands him the Prophet instead of answering his questions and walks over to look out of the window, feeling detached.

Draco is a fast reader; he slams the Prophet down just a few moments later, goes to get his phone.

Every wizards and witch Harry knows has one now; the technology is simply better than anything magic can offer at the moment.

Draco knows about Harry’s panic of exposure after the whole Steve debacle; Draco shares it. When he comes back to the kitchen, he’s already waiting for a call to connect but he leans down to kiss Olie, tickling him a little, before coming to stand next to Harry.

“Hénry,” he says, voice completely pleasant, “I hope the money was worth it - if you ever cross me or my family again, I will hunt you like the piece of game you are and string your insides along a cord made out of your stinky hair.”

Harry snorts.

Draco’s hands are insistent when they turn Harry around.

“I’m so sorry,” Draco says, “I’m so sorry to still allow him in our life after Olie was born.”

“Okay,” Harry says and doesn’t look at him.

He takes Olie after Draco leaves reluctantly for work, clearly suspecting that Harry is not as understanding as he claims to be. Harry packs all of Olie’s belonging as fast as he can. He’s freaking out but Draco – Draco told someone else some of Harry’s secrets and it hurts so, so, so much. Harry holds Draco holy; he thought Draco did the same for him. 

He starts hyperventilating, just a little, enough to ignore it. Olie starts to fuss around while Harry starts walking towards the international floo station in the French wizarding ministry; Harry has no idea if babies can be apparated and he won’t find out by testing it on his child. He knows that flooing is fine and he has done it with Olie before, but he never bothered to learn the differences in transportation magic and well. Nothing to do but walk.

Draco shows up with a pop next to him just as he reaches the deserted little walkway that leads towards the entrance of the Ministry, grabbing Harry’s arm.

“Please,” he says, sounding frantic, “I know I fucked up Harry, I know how much I hurt you, but _please_ – you’re my family, you’re all I have, the two of you are all I want – please don’t leave.”

Harry’s shaking; Olie makes a happy squeal seeing his other Daddy and Draco’s hands are soft and careful when they tug Harry in, when he presses Harry’s face against his neck, holding him there when the first sob erupts out of Harry.

“Take us home,” Harry manages to say after five minutes of crying all over Draco and Draco squeezes them harder and apparates them back.

 _You are all I want_ , keeps ringing through Harry’s head in the next weeks, and _god,_ it’s just as intoxicating as Harry always thought; if only it was true the way Harry wants it to be true.

 

\--

 

Because of Olie, Harry suddenly finds that he has to do magic regularly at home and it’s weird how he tried not to make this a part for his life for years and can still fall back into it so easily.

Life with a baby is so much easier with heating charms and cleaning charms and cooking charms and when you can spell a night sky over the top of your baby’s bed and when you can make things move and talk and sing, Olie shaking his fists and screeching with laughter to dancing saltshakers and towels and spoons.

Harry caught Draco staring at him more than once when he did magic at home and rolled his eyes at the sappy look on his face and Draco went beet red each time, and it was slightly hilarious.

Ron and Hermione are over one day when Olie manages to grab Harry’s juice and spill it all over Harry, the floor and the kitchen table and Harry swishes the juice away without a wand and a spoken spell and without even thinking about it, only realizes what he has done when Ron whistles softly.

“And I still can’t do a fucking accio wandless,” he grumbles. Draco smirks.

 

\--

 

It turns out that Draco is right about Harry noticing if anything is truly wrong with Olie.

Harry would have preferred to never find out, but well.

Draco’s still at work one evening when Harry feeds Olie his pureed peas and rocks him to sleep shortly after. Harry is half planning to cook some pasta for dinner and is inspecting their cupboard when he hears Olie choking and crying. He hurries back to the bedroom, not yet worried.

Their baby is full of pureed peas and Harry cleans him quickly, puts him into his second sleeping outfit and begins the rocking anew when Olie throws up all over Harry’s back again, violently. His little body tenses horribly and then goes sort of limp in Harry’s arms and he starts worrying then, cleans them again and lays Olie back in his crib to get a real look at him. Olie throws up a third time and Harry picks him back up hurriedly, grabs his wand and hurries them over to the fireplace.

At HMG they are quickly ushered in an examination room. Harry tries firecalling Draco at his practice and can’t reach him, sends a patronus instead. Olie still throws up and he’s running a fever now and he cries miserably, keeps rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists because he must be tired as hell. Harry rocks him in between examinations, waits desperately for Draco to come.

The healers give Olie a potion that he throws back up the second it’s in his mouth and Harry starts really to worry then. He tells himself to remain calm, tries firecalling Draco at home and at his practice again without results. Olie dribbles spit all over Harry and himself and Harry tells himself to remain calm; he has to remain calm for his baby.

That’s thankfully when Draco shows up.

He reaches to take Olie out of Harry’s arms immediately, runs a diagnostic spell and tuts at the tears collecting at Olie’s lashes. “Are we not feeling well, my little sweetie?” he murmurs and kisses Olie’s face while Harry gives him the rundown of what happened so far.

“Is your tummy upset?” Draco whispers and rocks Olie, “did you maybe catch a tummy ache you poor thing? Are you maybe having a tiny colic?”

“He threw up everything, Draco,” Harry says, voice not quite steady, and Draco turns to him instantly, a suspicious twinkle in his eyes.

“Do I need to get you a calming draught?” he asks, but his voice is warm. He stretches out his arm and tugs Harry in, pressing a kiss against his ear. “It’s not anything bad, Harry,” Draco says, gently and kisses Harry’s hair. “Kids get sick sometime. I’m sure they are bringing him another potion in a moment and then we can likely take him back home tonight. Relax, love.”

Harry shudders against him, curls himself closer, wraps his arms around Olie and Draco. Draco snorts above him, but doesn’t push him away, runs a hand through Harry’s hair instead, rubs his neck.

Draco’s right; their healer brings another potion shortly after which she dribbles carefully in Olie’s mouth. He swallows it this time and Olie is allowed to sleep for half an hour under a monitoring charm before they can leave again when the potion stays down. They are given another two potions, that Draco pockets after glancing at them shortly, smiling reassuringly at Harry.

Their baby is a warm, limp little bundle in Harry’s arm when they reach the entrance hall of HMG.

“Let us get a cab,” Draco says, “if we floo or apparate he will definitely wake up.” Harry nods and they stand waiting outside for five minutes before finding an empty one.

In the car, Harry leans against Draco, studying their child. “You were right about knowing if something is truly wrong with him,” he says and Draco nods, whispers _told you so_ in his ear.

“I would have preferred not to know,” Harry says, wryly and Draco grins at him, strokes his nose through Harry’s hair. “He’s alright,” he whispers, “kids get sick. He’ll be better soon. We’ll get more relaxed, too.”

At home, they put Olie in his tiny bassinet. Draco stumbles over some toys in the living room; their kitchen is a disaster of dirty dishes, paper towels and spilled juice.

“We really need to move,” Draco says while doing a few cleaning spells; Harry goes up to him and wraps his arms around his middle, kisses his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and Draco leans back into his embrace, relaxing against Harry.

“I’ve been offered a position at St. Mungo’s,” he says and turns around in Harry’s arms, studying his face, “as part of their senior staff. It might very well become a leading position at their psychiatry department within a few years and offers a lot more room for research than my practice currently does.”

“Sounds like you want to take it,” Harry says, and Draco sighs and slips his hands into Harry’s hair.

“It’s a great position,” he says, “a lot of potential. We’d be seeing our friends much more often. But, well. You know – that it’s not easy to come back to the UK. For me. For us. We’re relatively anonymous in Paris. We won’t be in London.”

“Yeah,” Harry admits, thinking about it. “I don’t know,” he says, “you and I haven’t lived in London together for – six, seven years now. It’s hard to say how it would be coming back. The whole Hénry thing has died down relatively fast.”

“Because Ron shot it down,” Draco says, cautiously. “Because – I asked my father to get involved.”

“Er,” Harry says, confused.

“Sorry,” Draco says, and he does actually look uncomfortable. “I didn’t tell you sort of on purpose, so you wouldn’t get worked up, but Ron claimed that further stories would directly jeopardize the physical well-being of a child and they couldn’t print much after that. And my father talked to – a few friends of his. He always knew more people than the Death Eater crowd and you know – since he was never acquitted and worked hard on repairing some relationships, he has – some influence.”

“He’s a political figure again?” Harry asks, unsure how he feels about that.

“No,” Draco says, “maybe. A little. He’s – Harry it’s going to sound insane, but he started a Muggle-born outreach program. To, you know, get Muggle-born children integrated in wizarding society before they go to Hogwarts, to help them learn to control their accidental magic and to inform their parents and stuff like that.”

“Er,” Harry says again, even more confused.

“It was obviously political maneuvering at the start,” Draco says, rambling now. He’s nervous. “But I think – he actually really started to like it. My parents always wanted a whole bunch of kids and well, it didn’t work out and you know it gives him – something to do. He likes lecturing. He takes them on trips and talks to their parents and I – he’s always been a horrible bully, but he sort of really didn’t know anything about Muggle-borns. He was actually really afraid of Muggles as a child and – you know. Now that he knows them better, I think he’s – not as prejudiced as before.”

“What does he think about his half-blood grandchild?” Harry asks and doesn’t quite manage a neutral tone. Draco swallows.

“He begs me to see him,” he says, quietly. “He – I send him a pic. Just one. He said he has never seen a more beautiful baby.”

“Oh,” Harry says, feeling weirdly ashamed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco continues, still in that quiet voice. “We don’t have to see him. I’m not sure I want him to spend time with Olie. I’m – we agreed that you wouldn’t have to deal with my father.”

“If you want him to meet Olie,” Harry says, matching Draco’s quiet tone, “you can take him. I’m not opposed, Draco.”

“It’s complicated,” Draco says, and Harry reaches up to kiss the tiny frown between his eyebrows. “Sorry baby,” he whispers and Draco slumps against him.

“So you’re basically saying knowing a master manipulator and a senior Auror are the only things that kept the craziness at bay, yes?” Harry asks and Draco nods.

“Shit, I don’t know,” Harry says. “It would be great to live together in London, because of, you know family and friends. We could also live closer to my forest and you could floo to London every day. That would be really nice, but you know. I share your concerns about Olie’s safety. And yours.”

“We should probably talk to Ron about it,” Draco suggests before herding Harry towards their bathroom to get ready for bed.

 

\--

 

Ron grins the grin of a man who feels like Cheshire cat when they ask him for help.

He grins a lot less by the time Draco has explained what they want from him.

“Well, shit,” he says and pours himself another coffee. He looks at Olie sitting in his high-chair for a long moment. Olie is busy eating a spoon, stares at Ron with big eyes. They are slowly turning more decisively towards green and Harry cannot even say what he feels looking at them, but the depth of his feelings for Olie are scary.

“To be completely honest with you, I’m not sure what I would recommend,” he says, calmly. “Since we’ve got Greyback back in Azkaban, the splinter group around him has dissolved, but they are individually active in Europe. None of them has any personal disregard towards either of you, but Harry and Olie are what I would characterize as high-profile targets, meaning that abducting or injuring or even killing them would make a political statement like not much else could. But since these people are less organized right now and have not many political claims to start with, attacking Harry or Olie would be a little – overboard, you know. It couldn’t be used like it could be used if they worked more on forming political action.”

“I should have taken a calming drought before we started this,” Draco mutters. Ron smiles.

“As for Harry, a lot of people are still very unsure of what you can do and can’t do,” he says, “attacking you is not something people would do unless they have a reason. Shooting a hex or spell or curse from cover and vanishing immediately again, something he would call a Guerilla attack on the other hand, is very much in the realm of possibilities for both you. Meaning attackers go in quickly and go out quickly again, not much caring about doing actual damage. That’s obviously still dangerous enough. I would guess the risk for Draco is considerably higher given that he has both opposers and supporters of Voldemort interested in hurting him. Hard to say if people were more willing to attack you if you are out with Olie or not.”

Draco rubs his forehead. Harry keeps looking at Olie’s eyes.

“So, to sum this up, I would say actual risk of extremist organized action is quite low for both of you. Guerilla attack risks from former sympathizers of Voldemort are relatively low for both of you because we disbanded much of them; most of them have served sentences or are serving them and those who walk free are checked on regularly. Guerilla attacks from victims and survivors are higher risk, more so for Draco, but I wouldn’t say the risk is nil for Harry, either. Regarding Olie, he might be caught up in the crossfire. I would say any action targeting him specifically is not a very high risk right now, because someone hurt by losing a loved one would not necessarily attack an innocent child, but I wouldn’t say that that couldn’t develop over time. Especially if we have new extremist groups forming.”

“And you think that’s true for the UK only?” Draco asks. “If we remain here it’s not as much of a risk?”

“Yeah,” Ron says, “France abolished open border policy towards the UK during the first war and never took that back. And we monitor all known political extremists. That’s not to say that someone could not get into France via other European countries, but we do watch these people once they leave the UK and inform other governments once they cross into national territory. We do, however, not have them under constant supervision, not even in the UK. Which of course means were you to meet Yaxley or Dolohov by accident – I wouldn’t know what would happen. Possibly nothing. Though they really hate your father, Draco, so they might want to act against you. They wouldn’t take action against Harry. Were you to meet younger ones – let’s say Dullidge or Eamston – I also can’t say what would happen, but they might be more interested in taking you on. And they would dare to take on Harry, too.”

“Who the fuck is that?” Draco asks. Harry rests a hand on his knee.

“People who sympathize with Voldemort’s political aims but were too young to actually participate in the war,” Ron says. “Their numbers aren’t too high, but well. Not too little to completely disregard them either. But as I said, they are not very organized which reduces the risk. ”

“So you’re saying our risk increases when we move back and it’s pretty unpredictable which doesn’t exactly reassure,” Harry sums up.

Ron sighs. “Basically, yes,” he says, “but I also think it’s manageable with a little planning and common sense. But of course – you will be under much more scrutiny. By the press, by politicians, by people affected by the war. You could give interviews to counter negative press but – you know how interested people are in you, Harry.”

“Hm,” Draco says. He sounds very tired.

“Lucius gets good press now,” Ron says, very deliberately. Draco looks away from him, clearly uncomfortable.

“Lucius,” Harry says, “didn’t know you called him that, Ron.”

“He was nice to work with when we contained babygate,” Ron says. Harry snorts. “And to be honest with you, I have worked with him since. Hermione volunteers in his outreach program.”

Ron lets that settle for a moment. “He will never be my favorite person, ever. But I can admit that he has made an effort to – reform himself. He’s been very blunt with what he believes in now. I would not agree with all of that, not at all, but I do believe that he isn’t a pureblood fanatic any longer. And he has stopped flirting with becoming an influential political power. He does issue-based lobbying now, for things I find myself agreeing with most of the time.”

“Okay,” Harry says in the silence.

“Draco,” Ron starts but Draco shakes his head, not looking at him. “Please don’t,” he says, quietly.

“What?” Harry asks. Ron hesitates. Draco sighs and nods at Ron after a moment.

“He’s missing you so much, Draco,” Ron says. “I can understand that you needed time but – he’s all alone in that stupidly big manor of yours. Don’t you think you could – have therapy together, if you can’t yet visit? Work on some issues? I think he would be very willing to do that, you know.”

Draco gets up and goes into the bathroom without a word.

“Well,” Ron says, “I guess not, in that case.”

Harry’s hesitating over it. “Let me check on him,” he says, and Ron nods, gets Olie out of the high chair and presses kisses against his face. Olie immediately grabs onto his hair; he loves red hair.

Harry opens the door without knocking, looks at Draco who’s gripping the sink with both hands. He’s barely breathing, holding himself so tight that Harry winces in sympathy.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Harry says, softly. Draco laughs once, a horrible, shrill sound of panic. Harry waits him out.

“How could I have been so fucking stupid Harry?” Draco asks, “how could I – take the Mark. Do the things I did.”

“You loved your parents,” Harry says quietly. He knows how hard the subject is for Draco, how very much he struggles with it. They can talk about it, sometimes, but not when Draco is in this mood; in this mood all Harry wants to give him is endless kindness.

Draco wasn’t a completely uninformed accomplice. They both know that. But the things Draco did are, in the grand scale of things, not so particularly bad. He saved Harry’s life, after all. He was kind to Luna. And above all, Harry loves him; he doesn’t even want to imagine what Harry could forgive him, because it’s an awful lot.

Harry has wondered so often about the what ifs in their relationship. What if he had taken Draco’s hand? What if he had gotten to meet him better at Madame Malkin’s? What if slicing Draco open would have had a bigger effect on both of them?

Draco doesn’t have the capacity to do true evil. They both know it. He can’t stomach violence, doesn’t like to inflict it, doesn’t like to witness it. He grew a spine once he came into the person he is today, once he said goodbye to Narcissa, because he had no other choice and left his need for Lucius’ approval behind him.

That their actions follow both of them – that’s their life. Harry would never ask for forgiveness or understanding for Draco of victims of the Malfoys or of Voldemort or of any other Death Eaters, but he takes a firm stand on retaliation. Draco wasn’t sentenced but Harry knows that he very well might have been for all the grief Draco feels over his younger self. Walking free did never equal walking carefree. Words are one thing and living your life another; Draco has lived his life after the war with full integrity without once flirting again with pure-bloodism. If that was different, they would have never become friends, but Draco is, if anything, more liberal than others of Harry’s friends.

“Harry,” Draco protests, but he allows Harry to draw him in, draw him down. Harry rubs a hand down the knobs of his spine, kisses his throat, waits him out.

“Thanks,” Draco says, eventually and they return to Ron letting Olie fly like an airplane around the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry it’s such a hard decision for you guys,” Ron says after shrugging into his jacket. “There are obvious ways to make it safer by containing how freely you move around. Let me know if you want to talk about these options.”

“Yes,” Draco says and steps forward to hug Ron. “Thanks. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Call your Dad,” Ron says in his ear, grins at Olie and kisses Harry on the cheek before leaving.

 

\--

 

Two weeks later, Draco has to decide on accepting the offer or not, and he frets for hours on that day. They have been going back and forth, talked to all of their friends and still don’t know what to do.

“Let’s flip a coin,” Harry proposes, and Draco flips him a finger instead. “Okay, let us sum up again,” Harry says, long-sufferingly. “It makes sense for your career, it makes sense financially, if we move back to Grimmauld -“ “But we’re not,” Draco interrupts, because he knows how unhappy that house makes Harry. “Yes, we will,” Harry says and talks over him, “most of our social circles are in the UK and London. Those are three big pluses. Cons: we are both afraid that one of us or our child gets killed.”

Draco groans very long.

“If someone was really dedicated to it,” Harry says, because having people really dedicated on killing you is sort of his expertise, “they could do it here, too.” “I know,” Draco says, “but according to Ron that’s not our number one risk.” “I know you want that job badly,” Harry says, “otherwise we wouldn’t be still talking about it.” “I care more about you and Olie,” Draco says, “ _obviously.”_

“Okay,” Draco says after another ten minutes of being indecisive, “let’s flip a fucking coin.”

Harry flips. It lands on heads. Heads is London.

“Alright then,” Harry says. Draco looks unhappy, but he nods.

And so, on a Saturday in March, they bundle Olie up in their Muggle pram and go out to look at yet another three apartments in London. Neither of them really wants to, but Draco already started working and they’ve been living at Grimmauld and it does indeed weigh on Harry’s heart. Draco doesn’t say anything about it, but it’s clear that he knows.

Draco is checking the directions while Harry leans over Olie to tug his hat back in place; London in early March is still pretty cold. Harry doesn’t hear the spell; it’s probably cast soundless. He only feels the impact of a stinging hex all over his back, pushing him forward violently and flunking him on top of his child. A second later, Draco hand keeps him in place over Olie, saying _stay down_ in a tone of voice Harry last heard from him when he was clinging to Harry’s back on a broom chasing away from fire straight out of hell.

Draco is blocking another spell chasing for them, draws up a bigger _protego_ around Harry and Olie, shoots a Patronus that undoubtedly runs to the ministry or to Ron. Harry untucks their child from the pram to be more mobile; his hands are shaking when he clutches a screeching Olie against his chest; his back feels as if he’s on fire; Draco curses behind him and an _aguamenti_ hits Harry.

“Do you have Olie?” Draco shouts, but Harry can’t answer.

Harry’s freezing up; he froze up in Auror training too. He hasn’t even taken out his wand yet, to busy trying to get Olie free. After the war, Harry did Auror training for a month and then had to except the hard truth – he didn’t want to fight anymore; fighting made him physically sick.

Draco’ _protego_ shield finally breaks under the strain of the curses raining down on them; he shoots a curse back at their attacker before recasting _protego_ immediately, but that’s thankfully the moment when a number of loud pops signal the arrival of the Aurors.

Draco turns around to Harry; he’s saying something, but Harry doesn’t hear it. His ears ring; his breathing isn’t right. Draco reaches out and pries Harry’s hands away from Olie, cradles him against his own neck before pulling Harry in at his other side, shouting something to someone and then apparating them away.

In the hustle and bustle of the entrance hall of St. Mungo’s, Harry closes his eyes and waits for the noise to come back.

Ron is furious when he meets them in Harry’s hospital room but it’s nothing against Draco’ rage. Harry knows Draco had a temperament, but he hasn’t seen it in so long he almost forgot about it; he can hear Draco screaming at the Aurors assigned to their case from down the hallway.

He’s pretty sure Draco just called one of them a _cum-sucking dick with a horse for a mother_ and he smirks for a moment before burying his nose once again against Olie; the smell of their baby has done wonders in keeping him call.

When Draco was attacked by Greyback, Harry also felt helpless and horrified, but that anyone would be willing to attack their tiny, perfect baby cuts a hole through his heart. Olie sniffles against him, still clingy in a way that makes Harry’s chest hurt; knowing that their son was terrified makes him ache for his mother and father fighting Voldemort in a way he hasn’t in years; facing Voldemort and knowing that your child was so scared and not being able to soothe it. It must have been horrible.

Ron rubs his hand over Harry’s back.

Draco enters a moment later and all the fight goes out of him when he sees Harry and Olie. He steps up to them and wraps his arms around Harry, presses a kiss against Olie’s blond hair.

“How’s your back?” he asks.

“Healed,” Harry answers, “we are good to go. She said to make sure the baby had a calm evening but since he wasn’t hit –“

“Don’t,” Draco says and shudders before kissing Olie again, kissing Harry again, taking Olie from Harry and hugging him so close. Harry watches in silent sorrow when he sees a tear leak out of Draco’s eyes, when he hides his face against their child’s body.  

“Draco,” he says, and Draco draws in a deep shuddering breathe and he looks devastated when he looks at Harry.

“They attacked him because of the Mark on my arm,” Draco says, “my child is in danger because of – me. Harry – Harry, I’m so scared for him.”

Ron whispers _shit_ underneath his breath and then quietly leaves the room; Harry tugs at Draco until he sits down on the examination table, making it easier for Harry to hug him comfortably.

“You always tell me there are things we can’t change and just have to accept,” Harry says, “this is just something we have to accept. We try harder to keep him safe and we make sure he is as confident as possible in having us as Dads and that’s all we can do.”

“It’s really fucking hard to accept that if it’s your tiny baby,” Draco says, but he’s curling into Harry, still pressing kisses against Olie’s face.

“I know,” Harry answers, “but you know. Nothing to be done about it,” and they just sit for a while, until Ron comes back.

“We scoured the scene and secured the magical signature, but it’s not in our data base,” Ron says, “since Draco says they were glamoured, it will take a few days to have results, but we are working on it. It’s a top priority, okay?”

“Thanks,” Draco answers, “can we go back to Grimmauld now? I would really like to put Olie down for the night in a familiar place.”

“I’m really fucking sorry,” Ron says, “but this is the moment where I have some highly unpleasant news.”

“No,” Draco says, “please don’t Ron.”

“We found the same magical signature within Grimmauld,” Ron says, grimly. “It’s older there. Somebody must have entered months ago.”

“Oh God,” Draco says and sits back down heavily on Harry’s bed.

“Well,” Ron says, “I think I have to – reassess my original opinion and do tell you that we might have a radical group at hand willing to make a bigger political statement by killing Harry.”

“Killing me?” Harry asks and furrows his brow.

“They attacked you, didn’t they?” Ron says. “Draco says their attacks focused on you when he started casting back.”

Draco nods, face so devoid of color that Harry honest to god worries about him.

“That’s why we think Harry is specifically targeted,” Ron says, “but. We don’t know anything for sure yet. Harry, I need you to think back on who you brought with you to Grimmauld in the last months. I’ll need a very detailed list.”

“Sure,” Harry says, quietly, already thinking.

“There are a few options for you tonight,” Ron says, “the Burrow, my place, Blaise’s place or Malfoy Manor. Those are the most secure ones. Please chose mine.”

“Okay,” Harry says. Draco heaves in a breath and another, eyes wide on Harry.

“It’ll be fine, mate,” Ron says and makes very significant eye-contact with Draco and squeezes his shoulder and Draco steps forward suddenly and hugs him and says, “thanks for being Olie’s godfather,” and Harry almost tears up.

At Ron’s and Hermione’s place, Rose is just as interested in the baby as always which means not at all. Hermione is in her third trimester and hates it. She listens to what’s happened today, but Harry can tell that she can’t concentrate and sends her off to bed. Ron puts them in  the future nursery for their second child that’s still a guest bedroom for now, because Ron never gets these things done on time. Harry transforms a chair into a bassinet, while Ron and Draco double back with Auror protection to get a few things from Grimmauld to settle them for the coming days.

Olie is down for sleep quickly only to wake up again and again throughout the evening and the night. Harry’s nipples suffer for it; he’s been in the process of decreasing nursing now that Olie is growing teeth. Draco rubs salve all over them, re-checks Harry’s back and gets up every time Olie is crying too.

Olie is back in his bassinet when Draco leans up and kisses Harry, deep and intense. They haven’t had much sex at all in the last months; Harry was usually to wrung out by the time Draco came home or his body wasn’t cooperating. They had a few blowjobs, a few handjobs; Draco has done a fair bit of nipple play for Harry and Harry is a bit disgusted by how much he likes it, but it turns him on so much, feels go incredibly nice to have Draco’s attention there. He’ll miss that once his nipples are back to normal.  

Right now, Harry’s kiss is threaded with exhaustion, but Draco keeps him in place with long touches, nudges him until Harry sits in his lap. That’s Draco’s favorite position, Harry riding him, though they both know that no riding will be had; Harry is _still_ not cleared for penetrative sex.

“Harry,” Draco says, and Harry opens his eyes to look down at him at his tone and feels his tiredness evaporate. Draco would never admit it outright, but Harry knows him well enough to know that he is terrified, probably needs the contact to ground him in the here and there.

Harry prides himself in being able to comfort Draco. It was a long learning process for him and a lot of his cues came from Draco himself, but he’s become good at it. He can hug Draco without Draco having to ask him to do it. He can scratch through Draco’s hair or hold him close at night or kiss him without needing to be prompted. He can make light of situations in which Draco will appreciate a little humor over being taken seriously. Harry knows Draco; with Draco he feels safe enough to give him attention and love and doesn’t fear to have it thrown back in his face.

That knowledge makes him lean down and kiss Draco deeply, makes him grind down his hips, makes him slide down a moment later to take Draco in his mouth. Draco whines above him and Harry relaxes his throat, lets Draco fuck into his mouth with tiny aborted jerks. He waits until he knows that Draco is at the edge; then he lets go of him with a pop, leans up to follow the lines of Draco’s scars with his tongue. He starts with the ones that Greyback put there, follows the ones he himself put on Draco, before he takes Draco’s arm in his hand and licks the Mark, holds his dick with his other hand and slowly starts pumping his fist, makes sure to make the slide for Draco’s cock as smooth as possible by whispering a lubrication charm. Draco groans deeply at that, shudders out of the paralysis he fell into when Harry first started kissing his scars. _Harry,_ he moans, and Harry waits again before letting go of his arm, before taking his other one. He watches Draco’s eyes go wide and wider, watches him still his hips. He’s still hard; Harry decides to go ahead.

The scars on Draco’s right wrist, curtesy of a failed suicide attempt from years back, are barely visible. Harry only knows that they are there, because Draco told him about them, just once, then never mentioned them again. Draco did a lot to make them vanish after he was out of St. Mungo’s. He still has a placard somewhere congratulating him on his cutting-edge research on scar reduction.

Harry kisses his scars, licks them, starts moving his hand on Draco’s prick in time with his licks. He checks the baby and Olie appears to be deeply asleep and for a moment Harry considers asking Draco to do it, but then he spells the privacy screen around them himself, adds a spell to open Draco up, adds a lubrication spell for his own dick, adds the protection spell with a smirk. Draco is panting underneath him, wide-eyed. Bottoming is always intense for him, his prostate orgasms so long that Harry can’t help but feel jealous. They usually do prep manually, Draco rimming and fingering Harry, Harry fingering Draco, but Harry guesses they won’t have much time today.

He urges Draco on top of him, watches him sink down on Harry’s cock with a choked-off moan. It’s the first anal sex they’ve been having, and Harry’s dick feels so good; Harry hopes Draco feels as good as he does. Harry can’t yet do much thrusting, but the riding Draco gives him feels exquisite, the moans and the pleading from Draco’s lips feel sweet like honey. Draco’s fucking himself with short, hard gasps, his hard dick bouncing off Harry’s stomach. Draco slaps his hands away when Harry reaches for his dick and Harry grins, knowing that it means that Draco is close and that it’s already too intense for him to add another stimulation.

The next moan Draco lets out is desperate and his dick grows even harder and then, after a moment of suspensions with all muscles locked tight, he’s coming, hard and long. Harry lets go himself then, arching his back a little, his toes curling. It feels good; they should have done that weeks ago but Harry’s still a little ashamed of how he looks, of how loose his ass still is, of his belly fat.

Draco slides off of Harry, curling into his side and neck instantly, soft hair falling over Harry’s face. His breathing is still heavy and he when he kisses Harry’s nipple, Harry’s whole body shudders; Draco chuckles.

“I love you,” he says, so quietly that Harry barely hears him. He falls asleep like that with Draco’s head on his shoulder; Draco rolls off him gently when Olie starts crying again and Harry sleeps through the rest of the night.

 

\--

 

The next days are hard for Ron, who bears down to give them answers as fast as possible and for Draco, who is so obviously scared out of his mind that Harry could cry for him.

Hermione sits down with Harry to compile a list of people that had access to Grimmauld before Olie was born; since then, pretty much nobody has entered the place as far as Harry knows.

Harry’s social circle isn’t exactly big; he didn’t bring one-night stands over either. If he had sex, he either had it exclusively with Draco or with the men Draco brought home, or with Draco and Hénry and all of that was in Paris.

Ron and Hermione and Rose were over of course, Draco visited pretty regularly. Dean and Seamus came over at least once, as did Neville and Hannah. Ginny came and brought a friend whose name Harry can’t remember, so they send her a message and find out that the guy’s name is Tony and he’s an asshole. Molly came over to cook and clean Grimmauld, no matter how often Harry begged her not to. Bill stopped by once on his way to Egypt; George sometimes came over after work to have a pint and watch TV which for a while was his newest obsession and Arthur joined them more than once, going crazy with his absolute Muggle fascination. Teddy was over less than Harry would have liked, but he and Andromeda just can’t get along.

“If it’s any of these people,” Hermione says, “with maybe the exception of this Tony guy, then I will kill them for you.” Harry snorts.

They think some more and some more and Harry massages Hermione’s feet. “Don’t have another,” Hermione says, “or get it the way you had Olie. The last trimester is fucking hell.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums, rubbing her ankles, thinking…

“Hénry was there,” he says, “I think after Christmas. They spent New Year together in London and I told Draco he could use the house.”

Hermione’s eyes are immediately focused.

“Ron’s really upset that the Aurors missed a new extremist group forming,” she says, deliberately, “he thought their monitoring was a lot better after all the reforms they did.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, catching on immediately, “unless they didn’t miss it and what we have here is quite a simply crime out of passion and greed.”

“Greed?” Hermione asks, leaning forward. “He knows that Draco is the sole heir to the Malfoy wealth,” Harry says.

“Is he, though?” Hermione asks, sounding doubtful.

“I’ve heard things about his father in the last few weeks that make me think he wouldn’t cut him off from inheriting,” Harry says. Hermione nods. “But I doubt Draco would take it. Maybe parts of it to leave to Olie. Everything else he wouldn’t want.”

“Unless,” Hermione says, “you were killed. Hénry comforts him and helps him taking care of the baby and they get back together and probably married and then he has a life-time ahead of them to make Draco change his mind. And with you gone it probably wouldn’t be that hard to convince Draco to reconnect with the family he has left.”

“I’m not sure I believe that Hénry is that cruel,” Harry says, “or that smart.”

“But he’s very prideful,” Hermione says, “very sure he deserves good things. Draco must have dropped quite a lot of money on him with all the restaurants visits and the holidays they took.”

“But killing me?” Harry says, doubtful, “he’s a coward, Hermione. I mean, he absolutely hates me, but outright challenging me? I would have thought he was the kind to use poison.”

“He’s never met you during the war,” Hermione says, “France didn’t cover the war very much and I doubt he’s the kind of guy to read up on politics. He’s met you as someone in an inferior position than himself; he’s met you as the guy Draco strings along because it would kill you otherwise.” Harry grimaces.

“Sorry,” Hermione says, “but think about it. You don’t do much magic at home. You have a weird job that I’m sure he thinks is nillywilly. He must think that you’re not a very good wizard at all. And maybe the end game isn’t killing you, but injuring you, damaging you permanently and using that time to slide back into Draco’s life. He’s definitely cruel enough to think Draco is his, just because he usually gets what he wants. He’s narcistic enough to think Draco must like him more and keeps you in his life out of obligation.”

Harry fidgets, nervous now and Hermione clamps her hand over his.

“Which is so obviously not true,” she says, sternly. “Draco – Harry, Draco loves no one the way he loves you. You and Olie are the two most important people in his life. We all really wish that you would finally understand that and find the courage to act on it.”

“Like I did on my birthday?” Harry asks, because well – maybe it is time to push a little to find out what the fuck happened when he turned 27.

Hermione frowns, confused. “Well, rather the opposite, right?” she says and Harry groans in his mind, because that does not make sense either. Shit.

He’s about to ask her what she thinks the fuck happened on that cursed day when Olie wakes up from his nap and promptly screams his little head off.

“The poor thing has had a real fright yesterday,” Hermione says when Harry comes back in their living room, cuddling his baby close. Olie scrubs his face and looks at Hermione before looking back at Harry with such a serious face that Harry can’t help but kiss him.

Hermione watches them with a soft smile.

That evening, when Draco is back home from work, Harry takes Ron aside to show him the list.

“We’ll check out Hénry,” Ron promises, “and Tony. And if these two bring up nothing, we’ll have to check all the others, no matter what we think about it. It would be negligent not to.”

Harry grimaces. Ron looks unhappy. “Don’t tell Draco anything about Hénry yet, ok?” Harry asks and Ron nods, frowning.

 

\--

 

Draco rolls on top of Harry in bed one week after the attack on them, burrows against him and starts crying.

Harry wraps him as close as he can and doesn’t bother with shushing him; he could tell how full of sorrow Draco was in the last week, how big his regret was for moving back to London. He’s happy that Draco can let the tears out, can allow Harry to see them.

He’s not crying all that long, but they stay arm in arm for a very long time.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling bad,” Harry says. Draco heaves in a big breath at that.

“It scares me a little that you’re not scared,” he says after a moment.

“If there’s another attack on you or Olie, I will be,” Harry says, “if it’s me, it’s, you know, old history.”

“Please don’t talk like that,” Draco says, but he’s smiling a little bit.

The next morning, Ron tells Harry that the magical signature is not Hénry’s or Tony’s.

“Hm,” Harry says, thinking some more on it.

When Draco and Hénry spent New Year at Grimmauld, Harry remembers dimly that Draco said that Hénry’s cousin would join them for a day or two. Harry didn’t really listen, because he didn’t really care.

He’s met that cousin once and she gave him the creeps. Draco never liked her either.

Harry dwells on it; everything he and Hermione talked about yesterday, applies to Hénry’s cousin too, only that Harry believes her to be able to go through with it.

That day, Draco comes home earlier, shaking and pale. “I got a howler at work,” he says, quietly, when Harry pressures him into telling them what’s wrong.

“And?” Hermione asks. “And it was very – detailed,” Draco says, “very – you know. From somebody who must know Harry or me. Ron’s taking care of it.”

The rage Harry feels is one he hasn’t felt since the end of the war.

Somebody is threatening his family and Harry thinks he knows who it is. The decision is easy.

He kisses Draco and hands him Olie. Draco sits down with Hermione and Rose and nobody really takes much notice when Harry goes upstairs to get dressed, when he comes back down and avoids the kitchen to pull on his shoes.

He doesn’t say goodbye, when he leaves the house and apparates, because he’s a tiny bit superstitious.

 

\--

 

Hénry tries to close the door in his face when Harry rings his bell.

“Don’t bother,” Harry says and shoulders in. They stare at each other.

“You can sell her out,” Harry says, very pleasantly. “Or rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life. I know you didn’t attack me or send the howler, but you’re an accomplice. Improve your changes by telling me about it.”

“Potter,” Hénry says dismissively, and Harry advances, doesn’t even think a conscious thought but Hénry is still in a body bind and pinned to a wall when Harry stops himself.

Hénry is wide-eyed. Harry is happy to know that he still has it in him when he’s not defending himself but the people he loves. Or maybe he’s just ready again; Auror training was almost ten years ago, after all.

“You know I killed one of the most powerful wizards of all time when I was just 18, right?” Harry asks, in a very nonchalant tone. He never brags about it and he isn’t a cruel person, but Hénry was willing to hurt _Draco_ and the fear in Hénry’s eyes makes the boasting worth it.

It’s a little sad from there on out, because Hénry breaks pretty much immediately and Harry goes to firecall the Auror department in London.

Ron smacks him over the head for going alone. “I’ve already told Draco,” he says, “because you deserve punishment.”

It’s pretty much how Hermione and Harry imagined, only that the mastermind is Hénry’s cousin not Hénry himself. She was willing to do the maiming or the murder and get a big cut once Draco inherited; Harry points out rather smugly that except for Abraxas, most Malfoys made it to ripe old ages of above 150; Lucius is not even sixty.

Hénry cries harder hearing that.

His cousin is arrested in London three hours later. “Put up quite a fight,” Ron says, “a pity she’s a lunatic. Would have done well with us.”

Back at home, Draco berates Harry for what feels like one minute, before giving up and hugging him. “What would I have done if you were hurt?” he says, desperately. Harry’s line about his age and Voldemort falls pretty flat with Draco, but it makes him huff and roll his eyes.

“I’m not sure I want to stay in London, nonetheless,” Draco says that night. Harry is safely wrapped into his arms; Olie is sleeping deeply next to them. Ron wanted to wait with them moving back until they knew who the other two attackers were; so far Hénry’s cousin hasn’t talked.

“Most likely hired help, though,” Ron said earlier, “so don’t worry about it. This will be over soon, okay?”

“We’re staying,” Harry says, “Olie and I have seen more people in four weeks here than I’ve seen in the eight months we stayed in Paris after he was born. I’ll give an interview for the Prophet soon and we will – move on. Go forward. Like we have always done. It will be fine, Draco.”

“You should have told me what you were really thinking about Hénry,” Draco says. Harry sighs.

“You liked him,” he says quietly, “and I had no prove whatsoever that he liked you for your money. I didn’t want to seem – desperate. I won’t do it again.”

“Harry,” Draco says desperately, “there will never be - you’re the only one okay? I’m – I don’t want to keep seeing other people. I’m done with that.”

“Well, once you change your mind, I will still promise to tell you if I think someone is not in it for the right reasons,” Harry says and doesn’t look at the unhappiness in Draco’s face.

 

\--

 

Life’s good after the Hénry debacle.

Draco loves his new job, even though he tries to downplay it; Harry knows he’s shy about how much he likes to learn new things and getting good results for the work he puts in.

Harry’s taken up researching again; there’s a tree in the middle of his forest that he can still not classify and he’s starting to think that it might be the so-called heart of the forest, a tree that in ancient times was to be believed the ruler of all other trees in his forest; fell it and the forest dies, culture it and the forest thrives.

His research points him towards looking into the hearts of wizarding homes and he spends three astonished days learning about the inherit magic of wizarding houses, how they used to be considered magical beings. With pure-bloodism in decline, wizarding houses got declassified back to having character but no sentiency and Harry spends a day walking Grimmauld from cellar to attic with Olie in his arms.

“Do you think the house is grieving?” he asks Draco that night. Draco keeps chewing his rice before asking, carefully, “what would it grieve?”

“It used to be the most ancient and noble house of Black,” Harry says, quietly. “It used to be a place where people loved and lived, and the house probably loved that, too. And then it saw so much heartbreak and falling apart of families and now it has only me and I used to hate it here.”

Draco hums, taking a sip of juice, clearly stalling for time.

“Would you say Malfoy Manor is sentient?” Harry asks, and a muscle ticks in Draco’s jaw. “Yes,” he admits quietly, “and it’s grieving too.”

Harry sits in silence, thinking on this for a long moment.

“Please do not start to feel responsible and sad about Grimmauld,” Draco says after a moment, “it has grieved for ages. This is not your fault.”

“It could be nice, couldn’t it?” Harry asks. “It has space. And a backyard. And it’s in an amazing location.”

Draco looks pained.

“I mean, we cannot just pull down a wall,” Harry says, “we would have to ask it to make the changes. It might take some time until it trusts us. It’s a pity Kreacher isn’t here anymore; he would know what to do.”

Draco sighs very long.

“We could have raised you in a nice apartment with no maintenance issues,” he tells Olie, “where you could have invited Muggle friends without us having to explain the numerous weird things in our house. But your Daddy ruined it for you. I want it to be known that it was Harry not Draco who ruined it for you.”

Harry grins. “Do you know books?” he asks eagerly, “or better yet, someone specializing in the upkeep of wizarding homes?”

“Well,” Draco drawls, “I know indeed someone who takes big pride in his family history and who loves his wizarding home enough to forgive it the collaboration with a very bad, no good wizard. I just doubt the two of you could get along.”

“Okay,” Harry says, “but maybe ask him about the books? I can still call on him if I need things clarified.”

“You don’t have to deal with my father,” Draco says, pained.

“Oh, is that who you meant?” Harry says, very innocently, “I had no idea. Be a lamb and do ask him though.”

Draco colors very slightly, but he looks at Harry with a considering look and Harry smiles at him until he huffs and turns to Olie.

 

\--

 

When Olie turns one, Draco insists on a quiet day and an excursion to the park for just the three of them before having dinner with friends and family.

“He’ll just sleep through it,” Harry says, amused, but Draco isn’t swayed.

“The park and the playing are for him,” he says, “the dinner is for you and me to say thank you to our friends. Also, I haven’t seen you dressed up in a year, so let me indulge.” Harry throws a pillow at his face for that comment.

It’s a warm and sunny day and when they come back to Grimmauld, Harry is tired, but in a pleasant way and Draco grins at him and tells him to go take a nap.

Harry obeys but can’t fall asleep, thinking about the last year; how Olie transformed his and Draco’s life, how happy he has been after he got over his postpartum-depression and his initial big freak-out. He’s kind of ready to ask Draco again to become official, to get married and have more kids and continue the renovation of Grimmauld, but whenever he thinks about having the actual talk, fear grips him, and his throat closes off and he has no idea how to address any of what he hopes for.

After restless tossing from side to side he gets up after half an hour and goes down towards the kitchen.

“Who’s my favorite little sweetie pie?” Draco sings to Olie. Harry makes sure to slide up to them as quietly as possible; watching Draco with Olie when he thinks nobody is looking is still his favorite thing.

Olie is in his high chair, squeaking and giggling and swinging his little fists. Draco is cutting a pre-boiled carrot and handling him tiny pieces he can pick up and chew.

“Not so loud, mister,” Draco says when the baby screams particularly high-pitched, “your Daddy is so tired I almost had to carry him to bed and we want him well-rested, don’t we, my little sweetie?”

Olie squeals and Draco smiles and behind them Harry smiles.

“We want him feeling so well tonight,” Draco says and hands the baby another piece of carrot, “it’s so important to us that he feels well tonight, after all the planning we did, didn’t we? Because last time when Daddy tried to ask your Daddy to live with him forever and ever, our Harry wasn’t so keen, was he? But we didn’t have you that time, did we? And having a little cutie like you, maybe he’s ready to reconsider, because I am so ready to reconsider, my sweetie, you have no idea how ready your Daddy is to reconsider.”

Harry must make a noise then because Olie sees him and his face lights up and Draco turns around and looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asks, and Harry swallows and tries to make sense of what he heard.

“When did you ask me to take us seriously?” he hears himself say and _god damnit,_ his tendency to word-vomit under emotional stress will one day get him killed, he’s sure of it.

Draco’s face shutters down hearing that; he’s blinking rapidly for a second.

“That’s not fair, Harry,” he says and his voice sounds wrecked, “it’s one thing to not feel the same but to shove it in my face after all this time –“

“ _No_ ,” Harry says, almost panicking now, “no, Draco, I don’t understand, I can’t remember you ever asking, I _don’t_ –“

“You don’t remember your 27th birthday,” Draco says and his voice is flat and cold, the way it gets when he lashes out when he’s hurting, “that’s really fucking _rich –“_

“Draco,” Harry pleads, because _shit_ , because _of course,_ because that goddamn cursed birthday, “I really, truly don’t remember anything of that birthday.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussing suicide / aftermath of intimate partner violence, including coerced sexual practices.

Harry apparated under a glamour straight to the Ministry, made his way to the international floo point as fast as he could. His heart was beating a mile fast; he couldn’t remember when he had last slept or had food. _Just get to Draco,_ he kept telling himself, _you can fall apart there._

He didn’t go to Draco’s flat. He wasn’t even sure why, but he made his way to HMG, asking for Draco at the reception. He was told to wait in Draco’s tiny office, that Draco shared with the other psychiatrists and when Draco opened the door Harry got up from the chair he had been sitting on. He had planned on going up to Draco and hugging him, but his body felt weirdly loose, as if he was a puppet with all strings cut. He sacked down on his knees in front of Draco and grabbed his thighs and shattered apart, disassociating so hard that it took Draco hours to get him out of it.

Eventually, Draco took him back to his flat, made him dinner, and wrapped him in around four blankets, stroking his face.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said softly, “sleep now. I’m so glad you’re here now, Harry.”

“I don’t – I don’t want it,” Harry said, voice raw from everything that had happened in the last hours. “I want them to – stop talking about me. Please make them stop. Draco, please.”

“I wish I could, baby,” Draco whispered, “I would do it immediately. But you must know – we don’t care. They can write whatever they want. Hermione and Ron and me, we love you. The Prophet can never change that, Harry, never.”

Harry’s breath stuttered out of him. He felt wheezy and dizzy and desperate. He wanted to address what Steve had said about Draco specifically, but didn’t know how.

“Sleep, now, okay?” Draco said. “I promise I’m still here tomorrow. I’ve got you.”

 

\-- 

 

Harry woke early in the morning, his face hot and his throat still scratchy from yesterday. 

"I don't think you should come through," he heard Draco say in the living room, "he's completely shaken. The episode yesterday was horrible. I think calming down for a few days will do him better than having to face anyone."

"What if I just want to sit with him?" Hermione asked. 

"He won't believe that you just want to do that," Draco said, "he will think he was to talk. Please give him a little time, Hermione."

"He's always wanted us around before," Hermione said; Ron's sigh was heard through the floo. 

"And he still does," Draco said, sounding tired, "but he - he's in a terrible state. He came to me. I have to - I can't let anyone see him right now. Unless he asks me too."

"I get it," Ron said. "He come to you thinking you would protect him. I trust you to protect him. I am just - so very worried right now Draco. I kind of need the reassurance of seeing him, you know?"

"I get that," Draco said, "I understand, believe me. But I can't - I value his trust about all else."

"You know, you two really should get it on," Hermione said, "I can give you the partner title, but best friend title and duties - they remain with Ron and me."

"I'm not-" Draco started to say hotly, but Hermione interrupted. "I know you'e not doing this on purpose, you idiot," she said, "and I am very happy to know he had a friend in you when we didn't get him any more after the war. I'm just telling you - to share him with us. Even if you are the most important person in his life now."

"Give him our love, okay?" Ron said. "Tell him, we are so happy he came to you. Tell him that we will never ever believe anything Steve says or anyone else. We know Harry."

 

\--

 

“Harry,” Draco said after Harry had spent a week with him, “I want to ask you to do something. Can I?”

“Sure,” Harry said, a little mystified by Draco’s serious tone.

“Therapy,” Draco said, “I really – I really would like it if you would go.”

Harry looked at him, at his beautiful, beloved face, at his earnestness. “Okay,” he said, “can you recommend someone?”

Draco breathed out a huge swoosh of air, laughing a little and shaking his head. “What?” Harry asked.

“Sorry,” Draco answered, “just – I had a whole backup plan with Hermione and Ron if you didn’t want to go. I have about forty arguments to present to you why it would be good for you, and well. Should have known you would surprise me by just saying yes.”

“I’m ready,” Harry said, “I’m – I never want to go through a thing like that again. You said – you implied that – it happened to me because I was – the type to have that happen to me.”

Draco shook his head, looking pained. “You’re not a type, Harry, and none of what happened is your fault,” he said, softly, “I’m just – it’s not uncommon to follow behavioral patterns you’ve learnt in childhood.”

“You think I have no self-confidence,” Harry said, half between statement and question.

“You do,” Draco said, “in a lot of ways, you’re the most self-confident person I know. I just – when it concerns you and personal relationships. When it’s about what you feel. Then you’re less confident. Taking care of people, allowing people to take care of you. You – Harry, you didn’t get that as a child and it’s only natural to now not know – what’s real. What isn’t.”

“Probably,” Harry said, slightly uncomfortable now.

“Please, Harry,” Draco said, “that’s not – a bad thing. Not at all. It’s a bit hard for a lot of us. I had trouble with it too.”

“Really?” Harry asked, and Draco swallowed deeply, compulsively.

“I told you that I made a mistake after – after my mother killed herself,” Draco said. “I made two, actually. I slept around. Like a slut. I fucked whoever – wanted to fuck. I didn’t care about any consequences whatsoever. I just – bent over. Or fucked them. Whatever they preferred. I did things – that hurt me. And I still kept going, because it was better than, you know. Facing why I wanted to hurt myself.” Harry looked at him and then reached out and wrapped a hand around his wrist. Draco had done that for him so often now; it had always helped Harry.

“It got so bad, Harry,” Draco said very quietly. “I was so – so very lost. I didn’t know what to do. So I – I did try to do what my mother did.”

“Draco,” Harry whispered. Draco turned his wrist in Harry’s grip and brought it closer to Harry’s face. The scars were very, very faint, but now that Harry knew to look for them, they were visible.

Harry kissed them. Draco drew in a sharp breath. Harry looked at him and said: “You have no idea how happy I am to know that it didn’t work.” “Harry,” Draco whispered again and then they kissed, just a press of lips. Draco drew back after a moment, looking down at Harry.

“I – Harry – you matter so much to me,” Draco said. “But – can we wait? Can you do therapy first and – get over Steve and then we – try us? Maybe?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed and hid his face against Draco’s neck.

 

\--

 

Therapy was…odd.

Harry went back to London and half-heartedly started another attempt to make Grimmauld a homely place and two nights a week he would floo to Manchester to meet a therapist that Draco had recommended.

Her husband was a Muggle-born Wizard and they lived pretty Muggle, she had told Harry. She knew who he was, but Draco had assured him that she was bound by patient confidentiality and she hadn’t minded signing another non-disclosure agreement that Hermione had drawn up.

She didn’t want Harry to talk about his past, she wanted him to talk about his feelings and it took Harry weeks to even understand what he was feeling any given time. He wasn’t sure it helped at all, but he had promised Draco and so he stuck with it.

It also helped that Draco flooed in most evenings when Harry was at therapy and made him dinner and simply petted Harry’s hair in silence in front of the telly before they went to bed. Draco would get up early in the morning and get ready for work and Harry would sometimes slip into the walk-in closet where Draco had started to store some shirts and pants and toiletries and breath in his particular cologne, the scent of his after-shave that lingered in the air.

It did wonders in keeping Harry grounded; he wondered if Draco knew.

Hermione and Ron kept inviting Harry over much of the rest of the week and then Draco would floo in every weekend and the weeks went by like that until Ron announced one day that Harry was required to give a short statement about Steve.

“But I don’t want to,” Harry said, and crossed his arms over his chest, kept looking down instead of at Ron or Draco who had shifted in his seat next to him. They were at their usual pub and Harry had just been slightly buzzed and ready to go home when Ron had spoken up.

“Harry,” Ron said, “I can understand that it’s – unpleasant. And a lot to ask. But without your statement making a case against him won’t be easy. We have another guy willing to testify who got out of a relationship with him just before the two of you met, but we still need yours.”

“Draco,” Harry pleaded, and Draco sighed.

“It will only take 30 minutes tops, Harry,” Ron said, “and I’ll be with you the whole time. If you want Draco there, he can with us the whole time, too. If you want to do it alone, you can do it alone.”

“Can I not just write it down?” Harry said; he was suddenly close to tears and he could tell that both Ron and Draco knew. “Can I not just use a pensieve?”

“I’m sorry,” Ron said, “but no.”

“You said that I never had to deal with this again after I gave my statement,” Harry said to Draco and his voice broke half-way through the sentence and he quaked out the rest of it. Draco reached out to him, but Harry moved out of his way, stumbled down from the high bar stool he had sat on to grab his coat.

“Harry,” Draco said, “please don’t go. Can you explain to us why doing this is so scary?”

Harry shook his head and fumbled for his wallet; Ron’s warm hand closed around his. “Please, let us all go together,” he said quietly, but Harry had found his pounds and put them on the bar and was walking out without waiting for them.

Outside he couldn’t find it in him to apparate away and he waited in the cool October night for them. The whole Steve thing had been over for five months and Harry hadn’t thought about it much, had yet to talk about it in therapy. He wasn’t even sure himself why he was so set against given a statement; he just was.

Draco’s hand was warm when he slipped it around Harry’s wrist.

“Try to explain it to me,” he said quietly and rubbed Harry’s pulse point.

“I don’t know,” Harry said after a moment, “I just want to be done with it. I don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t even think much about him at all in the last months and it’s – unfair that I have to now.”

“I know,” Draco said quietly, “and I agree. None of this is fair to you at all. You should not have to do it because he should never have done to you what he did. If Ron could, he wouldn’t ask this of you, but without your statement the case against Steve isn’t very tight.”

“But I gave a statement,” Harry said. He didn’t like how he sounded, whiny and petulant like a spoilt child. Draco’s finger was still rubbing Harry’s wrist.

“And he gave a counter statement,” Draco said, “and now it’s necessary to have you clarify a few things.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said, “I don’t want to do it. It wasn’t even so bad, being with him. He was a nice enough guy most of the time.”

“Oh no, Harry,” Draco said and shook his wrist.

“What?” Harry bit out, defensively, but Ron joined them in that moment.

“What what?” he asked, and Harry looked away. He was somehow angrier with Ron than with Draco, but he was getting there; Draco’s pained face was getting on Harry’s nerves just as badly as Ron’s concerned one.

“I said,” Harry said very clearly, “that being with Steve wasn’t even so bad. So what, he broke my nose and we were done after. It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you going crazy now?” Ron asked. Draco could be blunt too, but Ron was always on another level; Draco made sure to never attack Harry when he was being forward, while Ron didn’t care about the way he said things at all. “You stated that he emotionally blackmailed you, that he pressured you into doing things you didn’t want. You said he hit you before he broke your nose. You said that the things you did in bed –“

“Let us take this somewhere else,” Draco interrupted but Harry had – enough. He ripped his hand out of Draco’s grasp and stepped away from them both.

“Please,” Draco said to him, very quietly. He looked sad and just a tad ill and Harry was so angry with Ron and him and his whole stupid life.

“I’m not doing it,” Harry repeated and then he apparated back to Grimmauld and banged every door up to his bedroom where he grabbed Draco’s pajamas and threw them out of the room before warding it.

Draco knocked on his door anyway.

“Just tell me if you’re alright,” he said. Harry didn’t reply. “Harry, please,” Draco said and knocked again, a soft rapping of his knuckles against the wood.

“Harry don’t make me worry about you.”

Harry got up from his bed and put himself at the other side of the door; he let his head thump against the wood and breathed in and out.

“Did he violate me, Draco?” he asked after a moment. “I mean physically.”

“He did,” Draco said on the other side of the door. His voice was very soft; he sounded like comfort; he sounded like he had sounded when he had promised Harry that Harry would never need to be alone again.

Harry breathed in and out. “I mean sexually,” he said, because he had – worried.

Draco was silent for a long, long time.

“Yes, he did,” he said in the end and his voice was honey soft.

Harry swallowed and swallowed again; his throat was very dry.

“It was alright in the beginning,” he heard himself say, “I liked what we did. Is it still – wrong if I liked it in the beginning?”

“My sweetheart,” Draco said, “Harry, you perfect little thing, it’s always wrong if you’re not a hundred percent comfortable with it. He’s not allowed to do to you what he wants just because you gave permission once or because he’s your partner. You did nothing wrong at all, okay?”

“I wanted to call you,” Harry admitted in a rush; he suddenly had to get this out or die. “I was thinking about it every day, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t understand what was wrong just that I – didn’t feel good.”

“I’m so sorry,” Draco said, “I’m so incredibly sorry this happened to you. It was not your fault.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” Harry said, “I’m so upset with myself for believing his crap. Imagine Voldemort coming back now and finding out all he has to do is to tell me he loves me and I’m losing my goddamn mind,” and Draco made a weird sound, something like a groan or a choke.

“I know,” Draco said, “I understand that. I know it’s not as easy as telling you that there isn’t any reason to be embarrassed. But ultimately none of what _you_ did matters, Harry. It was him who did these things to you. It’s him who is to blame for all of it. If it hadn’t been you it would have been someone else. This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.”

Harry swallowed.

“That’s not what you said to Ron,” he said calmly.

“What?” Draco asked, and Harry told him; about their talk and what Harry had heard.

“You said it’s because of me,” Harry concluded and couldn’t quite help the accusatory tone. “You said – he dangled these things in front of my face and I was a willing victim because all I wanted was some love and feeling like I belonged.”

“Harry,” Draco said, “that’s not how I meant it at all. I meant that he used what he got to know about you to coerce and manipulate you. I didn’t mean – Harry, he would have done this with anyone.”

“You think I’m damaged goods,” Harry said, livid now with – Draco, Steve, Ron, all of it.

“No –“ Draco started to say, but Harry ripped open the door and pushed at him, hard, both hands flat on his chest.

“Get out,” he said and pushed again, and Draco’s hands covered his, holding them there. He let himself be pushed until his back hit the other wall.

“You’re not damaged goods,” he said. “I’m so sorry if you think that that was what I was saying –“

“Get out,” Harry repeated, but the heat wasn’t there anymore, only terrible pressure that build behind his eyes and Draco closed the last gap between them and pulled him in and kissed him, kissed the tears away.

“You’re perfect,” he said, “you did nothing wrong. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I can’t do the press thing again,” Harry cried and curled himself closer and closer and closer, “I don’t want – I don’t want people to know what he did to me, please. I don’t want it.”

“You won’t have to. It’s okay my darling. Just let it out,” Draco whispered and kept rocking Harry, soothing him with little nonsense things he whispered to him. He kissed Harry again when Harry was done crying and Harry made a face at him.

“I’m disgusting,” he said, and Draco simply kissed him again.

“Not at all,” he said softly and kissed him again.

“I thought you wanted to wait until I got over Steve,” Harry mumbled and leaned up to kiss Draco; kissing Draco was instantly and a hundred percent addicting.

“Yes,” Draco said, “and we will. This is – solace. A reward for being brave and telling me. This is – because I like you so much and I never want you to think that you did anything, _anything_ to deserve what he did to you.”

Harry breathed in deeply and put his head on Draco’s shoulder, sniffling there for a moment.

“Is it an internal statement?” he asked, and Draco nodded against his hair.

“Will you come with me?” Harry asked next, and Draco said “of course,” as if he was offended by the question.

“Will you promise not to go and kill him once I’m done?” he said and smiled when Draco muttered something unfavorable under his breath.

 

\--

 

After the statement, Draco and Harry went flying.

Then Harry cried for an hour underneath a big birch tree while Draco rubbed his back and kissed his face and told him that he was brave and would be alright.

They went and had ramen after.

At night, Harry burrowed against Draco and didn’t know how to ever thank him for any of this – his time, his devotion, his patience, his love for Harry in whatever capacity Harry wanted it.

“Am I as good a friend to you as you are to me?” Harry had asked, and Draco had looked at him, just looked and answered, “you are everything,” and Harry had no idea what to make of it.

 

\--

 

The spell zinged past Ron and Harry towards Draco. For a horrible moment Harry thought it would connect but Draco shouted _protego_ just in time and the spell bounced away with a flick of his wand.

Ron was quick to counter curse on their attacker; it was a guy a bit younger than them in a frayed robe with beautiful blue eyes.

“His father killed my sister,” he shouted when Ron had him under an Auror holding charm in the middle of Diagon Alley while they waited for backup, “we never even got an apology. It destroyed my mother. Her only crime was to have a Muggle dad. How can he walk free? How is he allowed to not be punished for it?”

Draco was so very pale that Harry feared he would faint.

A muttering crowd was beginning to form around them. One man loudly agreed with the attacker; a murmuring of agreement rose around them.

“Harry take Draco home,” Ron said; some of the crowd began to shout abuse at them for running from a fight.

Draco’s hand was icy-cold when Harry grabbed it and apparated them away.

At Grimmauld, Draco started to tremble almost immediately. “I need a calming draught,” he said, and Harry got him one, watched the trembling decrease and Draco holding himself in a horrible rigid line.

“Did you know him?” he asked. Draco shook his head.

“Your father was indeed involved in the attack on his sister,” Ron said an hour later after he had flooed in. “He was seen at the scene. He didn’t cast the killing curse though we can’t ascertain for sure who did. I’m sorry mate.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, very formally and continued to look out of the window. In front of Grimmauld a few protesters had started to gather an hour ago; Ron was widely unhappy about it.

“I notified your father just in case,” Ron continued, “to be on a higher alert for the coming days.”

“Yes,” Draco said, sounding very faint.

The fallout got bigger and bigger in the weeks that followed; the Prophet and other media printed article after article recounting Lucius’ and Draco’s crimes during the war; more and more articles appeared on their lives after the war. A group came forward comprised of victims or loved ones of victims of the Malfoy family and they asked for a reinvestigation of crimes committed; _Death Eater crimes should never fall under the statue of litigations,_ their leader said, _you can’t buy yourself out of crimes like this,_ and a lot of people agreed.

Harry’s name featured prominently in most articles; some thought that Draco was likely blackmailing him or poisoning him; some mentioned _imperio._

“Stay away from the streets for now,” Ron said, “I mean it Draco. I slap a protective force on your back the _second_ you think of not sitting this out. It’s kind of amazing we’re only seeing it now. I mean Harry and you have been friends for what – four years? And frankly, the way you two cling to each other it’s weird they don’t have more dirt on either of you.”

“Don’t tease him,” Harry said; Draco didn’t look good at all.

“I need to go back to work tomorrow,” Draco said, almost absently, “I can’t extend my stay here longer. I need to – go back.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “I’m getting you a portkey. Be careful in Paris too, though. Only apparating and flooing between your home and your work. Mail orders only for now. No admittance of anyone without prior security measures. If I come over I will announce it by owl or floo to you; if I come over without announcing it, it’s not me. I’ll ask you a question too for Polyjuice; if I don’t, it’s not me. Same rules for Hermione and Harry.”

Draco nodded. He appeared almost shell-shocked to Harry.

“And talk to your father,” Ron added before he left.

“Draco,” Harry said in the silence, “I worry about you.”

Draco didn’t look at him.

“Can I come with you to France for a while?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded. Harry went to him then, wrapped his arms around him. Together they watched Ron make his way through the protesters arguing with more than one; it started to slightly drizzle but the crowd didn’t disperse.

“We will get through this,” Harry said quietly. Draco didn’t react, but his back was a tiny bit less rigid when Harry stepped away to prepare them dinner.  

 

\--

 

They had a date for the evening in London a few weeks later when Draco showed up unexpected early in the afternoon. Harry took one look at his face and dropped everything he had been doing, rushing to his side when Draco stopped still in the entry hall.

“What happened?” Harry asked and watched Draco suck in a choked off breath.

“My Da – my father was admitted earlier,” Draco said, almost tripping over his words, “with a – he – Harry –“

“Draco,” Harry said, unsure and hovering until Draco made a pained noise and drew Harry in, put his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry wrapped him into his arms then; it was logical and easy to do so once Draco had made that first step.

Draco’s breath guttered out of him and Harry rubbed his back and neck for a long time.

The fallout of the Diagon Alley attack had been winding down; Draco hadn’t. Ron and Harry had discussed endlessly how to help Draco; Hermione had sighed and said that nothing would help, that Draco needed to come to terms with it and move on and that he would do so eventually. “We’ll be just ourselves in the meantime,” she said, “he hates to be coddled.”

Harry wasn’t sure he agreed. If there was ever anyone who deserved some coddling it was Draco.

“He poisoned himself,” Draco said all at once, “he says it was an accident, but I. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. He never tells me – he – I can’t go through this again with another one of my parents, Harry.”

“Hey, Draco, hey,” Harry whispered when Draco choked for real. He tried to move Draco away from him to get a look at his face, but Draco kept clinging to him, shaking his head.

“Please,” he said and curled more closely against Harry and Harry let him. There wasn’t much Harry wouldn’t allow Draco. Probably nothing, if he thought about it, if it helped Draco.

“Tell me again what happened today,” Harry said, calmly. One of them needed to be calm.

“He was brought in around 11 by his house-elf,” Draco said so fast he was almost tripping over his words, “he claimed he had been brewing a potion and mixed up two mushrooms he had picked earlier. He was given an anti-ostium-potion and they washed his blood of any excess. He told me not to make a fuss and that it was an honest mistake and that he – that he wouldn’t do – that. He’s sleeping now and I – came here.”

“I’m glad you came,” Harry whispered, and Draco shuddered again.

“I haven’t seen my Da – my father in almost three years,” Draco said, and Harry pressed his lips against his temple, not knowing what to say, not knowing if that was something that hurt Draco.

“Why not?” Harry asked. Draco laughed and then he laughed again and then he was choking on his own saliva. “Draco, hey,” Harry whispered and held him closer.

“I don’t know,” Draco said, “I don’t know why. He didn’t stop – me getting the Mark. He didn’t – he didn’t protect me. I don’t want to talk about my mother with him. I don’t – I miss the man he was when I was a kid and I hate the man he became. He hates the man I became with my – we talked after the attack and he said Malfoys don’t get scared but I – I’ve been so scared Harry. I don’t even feel like myself right now.”

“I know, Draco,” Harry admitted, quietly.

He hadn’t really known Draco at Hogwarts, not in the way it counted. He didn’t think Draco was the person he used to be with all the boasting and the arrogance and the way he used to do what he was told by his father and Voldemort. He wasn’t much into dramatics, nowadays; his mouth didn’t run away from him like it used to. He was a lot less innocent.

If Harry thought about it some more, maybe he didn’t like it so much; he liked that Draco was now only doing things he wanted to do, but he maybe didn’t like how all that contradictory big personality that had made up Draco had been pressed down into professionalism.

“Well,” Draco said, and then nothing else, and Harry could tell that he was exhausted, and he made them turn towards the kitchen. Harry busied himself with making the tea he only kept for Draco; Draco busied himself with trembling on the chair Harry had made him sit on.

“Thanks,” Draco said, sounding just a tad watery when Harry placed the tea in front of him. Harry hovered, unsure of what to do next until Draco reached out and tugged him down on the chair next to him.

“I can’t make dinner tonight,” Draco said, “I’ll need to go and get back to him. I’m not – I think, they’ll release him tonight, but I think I should – probably go and stay with him for a while.”

“Sure,” Harry said, “do you want me to come with you?”

Draco froze, cup halfway up to his mouth. “Harry, no,” he said, and the cup almost broke on the hard surface of the desk when Draco put it back down abruptly, “you don’t have to – to deal with my father. I don’t – he’s not going to be a part of our relationship. Don’t worry about it.”

“But he’s your Dad,” Harry said very quietly, choosing that word over father. Draco stared at him, mouth slightly open.

“He tried to kill you more than once,” he said and looked away from Harry, clearly uncomfortable now, “I don’t require you to – he’s not a big part of my life. I’m just – it wouldn’t feel right not being with him today. And I – haven’t told him. Much. Of my private life. He would be – I don’t want him to say things to you.”

“Alright,” Harry said, “but I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t be – I would do it for you. Not him.”

“Harry,” Draco breathed and leaned forward and kissed him, rested their foreheads together. They sat like this in silence for another few minutes. Draco finished up his tea shortly after and left with a long, lingering kiss for Harry, whispering _thank you_ in his ear more than once.

Harry stayed awake pretty much throughout the whole night, thinking of the terms Dad and father and doing the right things as opposed to the things you wanted to do.

 

\--

 

Harry’s forest was suffering from a drought and then from the floods that followed in autumn and then the whole forest sank into sleep for the winter and in spring, a living fungi infestation came up and Harry spent much of his time researching the tiny creatures that tried to bite off his finger and set his hair on fire whenever he took a hike or tried to battle them and so the months slipped by without Harry really noticing them while the weather heated up.

The whole Steve disaster had been over almost two years ago, Harry realized, and he hadn’t thought of him – in months. It felt good to realize that he didn’t matter anymore. The whole Diagon Alley affair had winded down too after Ron gave a very pointed interview on the state of Wizarding society and learning to live with trauma; Draco still didn’t go and see Lucius and he kept away from Wizarding places after the attack, but he wasn’t so heart-broken about it any longer.

“Let’s take a holiday,” Draco said sometime in late July, a few days before Harry’s 26th birthday. “Let me take you to Italy and we’ll celebrate there, what do you think?”

“If that’s my present, we don’t do presents,” Harry said, very touched. Draco grinned. “Then it’s your not present,” he said sweetly.

“I still have tiny, tiny mushrooms trying to kill me and my forest,” Harry said thoughtfully. “But I’ve noticed that they only try to claim a certain tree and the tree doesn’t seem to be opposed so now I’m not sure if there’s still any need to get rid of them.”

“Think about it for two weeks in Italy,” Draco said, and Harry laughed.

“But they are so very tiny and yet wrapped in evil,” Harry mused, “you would love them. Full to the brink with –“

“Please,” Draco interrupted, “come with me. I’ll take you to Lucca and Pisa and I’ll feed you so much pizza and pasta you won’t believe it. We can look at your tiny evil mushrooms when we come back.”

“Alright,” Harry said, and Draco ruffled through his hair.

 

\--

 

Italy was wonderful in a way Harry could barely describe; the colors, the scents, the food, the way the light reflected off Draco’s hair. They swam and lazed around in the sun and had coffees everywhere and toured Sienna and Pisa and Lucca and Harry could have stayed forever.

For the last few days, Draco rented a tiny stone house in the Italian Alps, close to Lucca and they sat out on the terrace until well into the night, the only two people around for miles and miles.

Harry had caught Draco staring at him numerous times in the last days, quiet and intense, as if he had reached a decision and was ready to act on it and when he turned around to point out a constellation to Draco, their gazes locked.

Then Draco leaned over in his lawn chair and kissed Harry. Ten minutes later they were laying on the grass, necking like teenagers. Harry was harder than ever in his life.

“God, I love your lips,” Draco said and leaned down again to kiss Harry. Harry pushed his tongue into his mouth almost desperately, already choking on how much he wanted Draco.

“You’re aching for it, aren’t you?” Draco whispered, “you’re so hot and ready for me, because nobody ever wanted you like I want you, is that right Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed; he had no idea what Draco was saying but he would say yes to everything if it got Draco to get on with it. “Please fuck me Draco. Please.”

“Are you sure?” Draco said, mock-contemplating, “because I am very good at it. The shags you had will pale in comparison. Maybe it gets you addicted, maybe –“

“No teasing,” Harry said, “no acting, please,” desperately and Draco’s face went soft and tender immediately.

“Okay,” he whispered, and Harry shivered and groaned, and Draco got indeed on with it.

It was heaven and it was pure torture at the same time, Draco taking ages to prep and rim Harry until he was so out of it, that he mewled and whimpered like an animal in heat. Draco seemed set on kissing and licking every part of Harry’s body, inscribing it with his attention and care and Harry writhed underneath him, spooked and turned on in equal measures.

By the time Draco’s cock found Harry’s prostate, Harry’s arousal was painful in his gut, and he spread his legs wider, returned Draco’s kisses and clung to his back like a shaking, blushing virgin, unable to do anything but take it.

“Come for me,” Draco said, and Harry cried out and _couldn’t_ , he just didn’t know how, he just –

“I’ve got you,” Draco said, wrapping a hand around Harry’s painfully hard dick, “just let go. Let me see you, let me hear you. I want you to, please,” and then Harry came.

When Harry came back down, Draco was nuzzling his cock, licking the cum of Harry’s stomach and out of his ass.

“I forgot to use a protection charm,” Draco said, quietly, “does it run in your family? The Potters, I mean, obviously. Muggle-borns can’t, but half-bloods sometimes can, especially with a family inclination towards it, so? Does it?”

“No idea,” Harry said, without any real clue what he was talking about. Probably being gay, but Harry was so comfortable and cozy, so in love that he didn’t bother with clarification.

“Well, better to be safe than sorry,” Draco said, “I’ll use it next time. Or do you want to get into town and see if we can find a potion just to be sure?”

“There’s going to be a next time?” Harry asked, so hopeful he couldn’t even be arsed to ask what potion Draco was talking about.

“I would like that,” Draco said very quietly, “I would like for it to have numerous next times, but if you don’t –“

“No, me too,” Harry hurried to say, and they kissed and kissed and kissed afterwards.

 

\--

 

The next morning, Harry woke up to Draco’s hand on his dick, stroking him lazily.

“Merlin, you’re so hard,” he said ten minutes later, and Harry moaned with it, arched up into his touch.

“Can you fuck me, Harry?” Draco asked, eyes warm and intent on Harry’s dick, and Harry nodded, throat suddenly dry and itchy.

“I stretched myself already,” Draco whispered, “I’m – very sensitive to getting fucked. You’ll need to go slow and steady with me, okay?”

“Anything you want Draco,” Harry said and switched their positions, laid Draco out underneath him. He pushed a finger into Draco’s hole to check how lose he was and kissed his chest and neck when Draco moaned and writhed. “I’m really fucking sensitive,” he repeated, and Harry kissed him, sat up on his hunches and pressed Draco’s long legs towards his chest, before slowly, carefully sliding in.

Underneath him, Draco’s back arched and he cried out with it, breathing already labored and fast.

The rhythm Harry sat was slow and sure, a long, steady roll of his hips until Draco moaned and cried out with every thrust, toes curling. Harry picked the pace up then, let go of his legs to hold his weight on his arms while he fucked him with long, hard thrusts. Draco came soundlessly at first, body so taught and tight Harry worried about it a little and then he made a deep guttering sound that was the hottest fucking thing Harry had ever heard, before both of his legs started to tremor, and he pushed against Harry’s belly to get Harry out of him. “Your fingers, please,” he begged, and Harry pushed them in, scissored them inside Draco, who pushed up with a cry and came again, face sweaty, eyes wide and unfocused on Harry. “Harry,” he cried out and Harry had to grab the base of his dick to keep himself from coming. He licked the cum off Draco instead, took time to kiss and worship his upper body, lick his abdominal muscles. He pressed his legs open again after giving him 15 minutes and pushed in immediately; Draco’s arms pulled him down and scratched his back while he chanted “yes, yes, yes, there, oh my god.”

“Do you like me fucking you?” Harry asked, and Draco cried out and nodded, and Harry pulled out of him and pushed at him until he was on his tummy, grabbed one of their big pillows and pushed it underneath Draco to create a better angle before pushing back in. “Do you like having me in you, stretching you wide and open? So hot and ready just for me?” Harry asked, and Draco’s hole clenched and clenched. “You’re going to make me cum,” Harry warned and then he did, kept fucking tight into Draco’s, grinded down on him. Draco moaned and whimpered, and his cock twitched a few times, before a tiny amount of cum trickled out of it. Harry pulled out slowly and set to work between his legs, using his fingers and tongue to lick him clean, just like Draco had done for him yesterday.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Harry said, while Draco’s body shook and tremored with aftershocks, while he breathily moaned with every twist of Harry’s tongue. “You’re killing me,” Draco said, and Harry grinned, kissed him deeply, before wrapping him into his arms again to fall back asleep.

That was all they did in their remaining days; making out and fucking and kissing until they were both so tender that on their last day, they hung out in their lawn chairs, eating pasta while the sun set.

“Can this holiday never end?” Harry asked, and Draco laughed and kissed him again.

“I’m afraid it has to,” he said, “I’m starting a new job when we get back.”

“Er?” Harry said, and Draco blushed beautifully, all the way from his face down his neck and towards his belly. Harry stared at his pink nipples and tried not to call to mind the noises Draco had made earlier when Harry had teased and tasted him there.

“I’m a bit – I don’t know embarrassed,” Draco said, quietly, “it’s – a colleague asked me to become junior partner at his practice. It’s a lot more hands on therapy and less research but I – it’s something of my own. I can do it a few years and then, I don’t know, switch again or –“

“That’s amazing, Draco,” Harry said, because it was. Draco’s career was by far the most advanced out of all of Harry’s friends; even more advanced than Hermione’s which said a lot in Harry’s book.

“It’s not so amazing,” Draco said, very quietly now, “I mean I did work hard for it but – he’s an old friend of my father’s. So. Don’t get too excited about it.”

“He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think you capable,” Harry said, firmly and Draco’s blush deepened even more beautifully.

“I’ll have to work more hours,” he said, “devote my weekends to research. But I would still like it if we can see each other. You’re always welcome at my flat. For all kinds of things, not just sex, of course.”

“Good,” Harry said, unsure suddenly and disquieted by the intensity of Draco’s gaze on him. “Though I mean – the sex is pretty great, you know.”

“Oh, is it?” Draco asked, eyes intent and Harry rode him 15 minutes later, coming alive with the pain along his spine, thinking _knowing you is the greatest pleasure of my life._

“Are we – do you want to make it official between us?” Harry asked when they took a Muggle train down to Rome to floo back to Paris and London the next morning.

Draco looked out of the window where the Italian countryside was being painted glorious pinks and reds and oranges from the rising sun. He tapped his mouth with his fingers for a long moment.

“I value our friendship beyond everything,” he said, quietly and took Harry’s hand. “I value you beyond everything. I don’t want any pressure on you at all. If you want the stability and the security that comes with making it official, then we can do so. But we also know that eventually the press will catch on and it – might be horrible. Might be awful. I like the idea of fully – knowing what we’re in for before that happens. To try this without outside interference for some time, to keep it behind closed doors not because we’re ashamed but because – it’s something holy. You’re something holy for me.”

“Draco,” Harry whispered very quietly, and Draco kissed his fingertips.

“It can still have rules,” Draco said, “but – I want you to be sure. Therapy is going well, and you’ve been at it for some time, but I want you – to want me. Just me. Not the things I give to you. That sounds horrible, but do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“I do,” Harry said, “it’s not horrible at all. You’re scared I fixate again. You’re scared I lose myself if we hurry this up too much. You’re scared I know myself too little to not give in to your every whim or to contort myself into something I’m not. You’re scared of losing us because we both now that – making if official and having it end will destroy our friendship. And I wouldn’t know how to live with myself if that happened.”

“Yes,” Draco said, “I would rather not have you ever again if I would risk losing you, Harry. And I would rather have you forever than trying it too soon and then not having you at all. I just want – a test period. Not for our feelings, because I know they are there but for all of it. Having a long-distance relationship. Being more than friends. The things I did during the war.”

“What about sleeping with other people?” Harry said, mostly to not talk about the war. He knew that for him there would be no one else, ever again.

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Draco said, “unless you want to? No? Can’t say I’m surprised; you’re very steadfast.”

“So are you if you want to be,” Harry said, and Draco smiled at him. 

 

\--

 

“Okay but why not finally make it official if both of you are so sure?” Hermione asked a few months later in a crowded bistro in Paris. Ron and Draco were off somewhere to get more cheese and wine, Hermione’s face was flushed, and Harry felt loose and relaxed like he usually did these days. He had never been as happy as he had been since coming back from Italy.

“By now mostly because I want to make it a special moment,” Harry mused, “I don’t want to just blurt it out. I want to do – something nice for him. He won’t ask me because he’s convinced we’re doing this for my sake. So I can think about it some more and do something – he can remember.”

“Do not go overboard by asking him to marry you directly,” Hermione said very pointedly. Harry grinned.

“He’ll look so good in a white suit,” he mused, “all that pale skin and his hair in a –“

“Oh no, Harry,” Hermione said but Harry could tell she was thinking about it too and agreed.

Harry spotted Ron and Draco coming back over to them. Ron was saying something to him and Draco threw his head back and laughed, reached out to tussle Ron’s hair.

“Sometimes it throws me, you know,” Harry said, “thinking back to Hogwarts and how much I hated him.”

“He was a little prick at Hogwarts,” Hermione said and drank the rest of her wine.

“I’m not so sure,” Harry said quietly, “he was – under a lot of pressure.”

“He was spoilt and a drama queen,” Hermione countered and smiled brightly at Draco and Ron who came up to them then.

“Who was?” Ron asked, and Hermione nodded her chin at Draco.

“This one,” she said, “the biggest act I have ever seen at Hogwarts.”

“Hermione,” Harry tried to interrupt, but the damage was already done; Draco’s face was already pinched, and his hands tremored just very slightly when he handed Harry the wine he was carrying.

“I’ve got to run to the loo, sorry,” Draco said, and turned straight back around to where he had come from. Harry got up, too.

“What?” Hermione said, confused frown on her face, “I was just teasing him. We’ve literally been teasing each other a thousand times before.”

“It’s different when it’s about things from when we were young,” Harry said and started to walk after Draco, hearing Ron sighing _Hermione_ behind him.

Draco was actually in the loo; he was standing in front of the mirror leaning on it and Harry could have done without that particular flashback.

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry said when Draco didn’t acknowledge him. “She didn’t – it was just said in jest, Draco.”

“What were you talking about?” Draco said; his voice sounded very raspy.

“How I sometimes can’t believe that we ended up being friends,” Harry said.

Draco didn’t move for a long moment.

“I’ve wished so many times you had taken my hand that first day,” he said, and something hurt deep in Harry’s chest at his tone of voice.

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry repeated and walked closer slowly, reached out and rubbed his hand over Draco’s rigid back, his rounded shoulders. “I’m your friend now. I’ll always be your friend now.”

“I was so scared the whole time at Hogwarts,” Draco said, and his shoulders rounded even more. “I was so very scared of not being good enough for my Da – my father. Of disappointing the hopes he had. Of people making fun of me. Of losing Quidditch against you. There wasn’t a day when I didn’t worry.”

“Shh,” Harry said and rubbed a long line down Draco’s spine.

“You cut me open like an animal in that bathroom,” Draco heaved out, and Harry stepped closer, pressed his chest against Draco’s back. “I was crying, and you didn’t even ask why. I just wanted a kind word. I just wanted a hug and instead you – you –“

“Darling,” Harry tried even though he already knew that it was of no use.

“You knew what Voldemort was and you didn’t even try to talk me out of any of it,” Draco said, “you just cut me open. You – I just wanted to be your friend and you –“

“Draco, please don’t cry,” Harry begged, “I’m here now. I’m sorry I was so late but I’m here now.”

“I was so scared,” Draco repeated, “the whole time. That was the reason I acted like – like –“

“Stop it,” Harry said and finally managed to turn him around, to press Draco's head against his neck. “I know all that. But I can’t change the past.”

“I don’t want people to make fun of me for the way I was,” Draco said, and his whole face crumpled up before he hid it again against Harry. “I don’t want to remember it. It hurts so much to remember it.”

“Okay,” Harry soothed, “I’ll talk to her. She didn’t want to hurt you.”

“She doesn’t like me,” Draco cried, “I just want her to like me.”

“She likes you just alright,” Harry said and kissed his ear, Draco’s hair, rubbed his shoulders until he stopped crying.

“Oh shut it, Ron, I can totally go into the men’s bathroom,” Hermione said when he banged open the door. Draco tried to hide against Harry, but Hermione would have none of it.

“Harry loves you,” she said, “Ron loves you. I’m very fond of you. Malfoy, just get over it or must I hit you again like I did when we were 13?”

“I’m sorry,” Draco started to say, “I’m sorry for making a scene, I’m _sorry –_ “ but Hermione walked over to them and pushed Harry away, wrapped Draco into her own arms instead.

“You can’t hate the child you were,” she said, “that child is still a part of you. I know you know that; you studied this stuff. The child that you were made you. I won’t make fun of it again, but Draco, you can’t shut that child away.”

“I know,” Draco said in her hair, “I know that. It’s just so hard when – when you hate the person you were _so_ much.”

“Oh mate,” Ron said, and went to them and wrapped his long arms around them both. Harry came closer again too, slipped a hand in Draco’s shiny hair.

They stood like this for a long time and then they all got super drunk and passed out in the same bed and nobody mentioned that day ever again.

 

\--

 

It was a lot of loud and wonderful moments, but what Harry started to love the most the more the year progressed was to wake up in a quiet house on a Sunday morning, Draco’s steady breathing against his neck. Sometimes he would hear birds sing and sometimes there was the pitter-patter of rain against the window and Harry would watch the light stream in for a while before getting up. He would grab his robe and thick socks and go down to the kitchen to cook them breakfast before putting it under a warming charm and settling down with his coffee to wait for Draco.

Draco would come down half an hour later with his own robe on and they wouldn’t even really talk, just settled down to read and take their breakfasts and afterwards, Draco would do the washing up, while Harry wrapped himself around him and Draco would lean back against the counter and lean down to kiss Harry, and Harry would put his head against his shoulder and they would stand like this for a long time before they really started their days.

 

\--

 

Harry decided to ask Draco to make it official on his 27th birthday; he prepared a tiny speech and he went into his birthday giddy and excited. He didn’t really doubt that Draco would say yes.

When he woke the next morning, his head was pounding, and he felt awful, dizzy and confused. When he found Draco in the kitchen, his heart sank; Draco was furious.

“What were you thinking yesterday?” Draco said, and he sounded so angry and upset and Harry swallowed and swallowed and didn’t tell him that he couldn’t remember a thing; just watched Draco pack up his things and leave earlier than planned.

He sat down in his kitchen and didn’t move for a long time. There was only one plausible explanation; Harry had gotten it wrong; Harry was still just a kid in a cupboard who didn’t deserve love. If not even Draco wanted to be with Harry, Draco who had always said he loved Harry despite it all – then Harry was done with it, then Harry would remain alone until the end of his days. He would never talk of it again, bury his hopes and dreams and he would allow Draco to move on and away and Harry would just – be fine with it, like he had always been fine with things.

All things hurt less with time he told his heart and held on to his kitchen table with his fingertips.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys - this is it. I decided to stop here because it ties up nicely; but I got started on one last flashback chapter and an epilogue for the story. Let me know if you would like to read it and I try to finish them. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and the love <3

For a moment they stare at each other. Olie makes a little hiccupping sound and smashes another carrot in his face.

“What are you talking about?” Draco says, and Harry can’t even tell what he sounds like; angry, for sure, incredulous, but also a little wary, a little hesitant, a tiny speck hopeful.

“I remember going to dinner,” Harry says, “I remember going to the bar. I don’t even remember who went with us. The next thing I remember is the next morning and waking up with a headache the size of London, even though you said I didn’t drink and you being so angry with me and I didn’t understand _why.”_

Draco’s silent for so long, Harry half thinks he will simply not answer. “If that’s true – no let me finish, Harry,” he says, “if that’s true, then why did you never ask me why I was angry.”

Harry has to stop looking at him then; he’s about to say _never mind_ when he looks at Olie, who is staring at the two of them with his big grey baby eyes.

They have a child together. Harry doesn’t want to do this alone, even if the old panic rises in him.

“I was finally doing well, really well,” he says, without finding the courage to look at Draco, “I was – Merlin, I was so fucking in love with you. I was ready to ask you to – to make it serious, to make it have a future – to maybe get, you know, married and I – I thought we were on the same page and then you were so furious, and so cold and so unhappy with me and I didn’t know why, and I was scared that you – that it was because you didn’t want me any longer. I thought maybe I had asked you - what I wanted to ask. To be – together. And that you felt insulted, because you didn’t want that, and you thought I was imposing – or something. And then I didn’t dare to ask again because I didn’t want to hear you say it. That you didn’t want me. I knew if you said it I – it would be as if I was six again and didn’t know how a hug felt. I thought you had said it already and that I had drunk until I forgot it.”

Draco makes a sound then, a little _ooomph_ and Harry looks at him; he looks as if he’s been sucker punched, completely white in his face, with big, shocked eyes.

“Harry,” he says, “you’re not having me on? You remember nothing of that day?”

“I would _never – **“**_ Harry starts to say hotly and then Draco is on him, kissing him, hard and deep and desperate, before wrenching himself back.

“Shit,” he says, _“shit._ Ok. SHIT.”

“You’re scaring me,” Harry says, and Draco takes a deep breath and another.

“I asked you to be exclusive,” Draco says, “and you agreed, and we made out and I was so happy I could have – I don’t know, kiss Hagrid. And then you went to the bathroom and didn’t come back, and I went looking for you and caught you snogging some guy in a corner and when I asked you what the fuck you were doing, you just grinned at me and asked if I was jealous and I – I just left.”

Harry’s heart is beating so fast now, he can barely talk. “Draco,” he says urgently, panicky, “Draco –“

“I know,” Draco interrupts, “I couldn’t make sense of it – that you would do that to me after giving me your word. But it hurt so much, I – it was so bad for me, and I wanted to hurt you in turn and I – shit, I don’t know. You know how I am when I think – when my pride is hurt. You’ve seen the very worst of it.”

“Why can’t I remember?” Harry says, and Draco cups his face, looks at him.

“You woke up with a headache?” he asks and Harry nods, “you felt dizzy? Disoriented? You weren’t sure if the things you remembered happened in that order?”

Harry keeps saying yes, and Draco nods, almost to himself and then lets go of Harry and takes out his wand. “Hold still,” he says, and mutters and flicks for a long moment and then cold, hard rage settles over his face.

“Harry,” he says, “you’ve got – an old obliviate scar in your memory. The pattern of it should – it’s probably 3 to 5 years old.”

Harry shivers and Draco reaches out and cups his cheek again, just with one hand now.

“I can’t remember,” Harry says, and Draco laughs at that just once.

“That’s the point of them, sweetie,” he says, so very soft, and then he flicks his wand and a second later Harry – remembers it, Draco so nervous and earnest, Harry feeling so high on love, on life, the two of them talking about the future, just a little bit, people coming by to wish Harry happy birthday, him going to the toilet at one point and meeting Marcus Flint; Flint insulting him and Harry flipping him off happily, not even caring about him at all, saying something along the lines of _the love of my life just asked me to share a future together, so nothing can bring me down_. Flint staring at him, an ugly sneer to his mouth and holding up his wand and Harry remembered all at once that his was in his coat jacket and not on him and Flint whispering _you remember nothing of what that Malfoy cunt was talking to you about today, you forget this whole evening, you’ve been making out with the guy over there washing his hands, and you go back there and continue kissing him, and you will forever be scared to ask Malfoy about this day and what happened between you,_ and so Harry went and did just that.

“Dra _co_ ,” Harry says, and Draco draws him in, holding him; behind them Olie is starting to protest the lack of attention and Harry can barely breathe and Draco whispers, _shh, shh, shh, I’ve got you, just tell me_ and Harry does.

 

\--

 

“Where can we get a pensieve?” Harry asks after they have calmed down their baby and migrated to the couch. Harry can’t stop touching Draco, but Draco seems to have a similar problem. It’s slowly getting dark outside, but they haven’t yet switched on any lights and Olie sucks sleepily on his pacifier in Draco’s arms, head on his shoulder. They would need to get up and get ready, but neither of them makes any move.

“I believe you, babe,” Draco says, but Harry shakes his head.

“I want you to see it,” he says, “I want Ron to see it to. I want Marcus Flint to rot in fucking hell.”

Draco snorts and leans down to kiss Harry.

“McGonagall has one in her office,” he says, “all Auror departments have them,” he pauses for just a moment, “my father has one.”

Harry looks at him, waiting and Draco sighs. “He’s been begging me to let him see Olie,” he says, very quietly, “he’s been doing – this Muggle outreach program we talked about, and writing me letters, just, you know, describing his days and saying how proud he is of me and how –“

“Let’s go,” Harry says, “right now, for overnight, if you don’t mind.”

“Harry,” Draco says hesitantly, “you don’t have to do this, we agreed you wouldn’t need to deal with my father, we –“

“Olie has no other grandparents,” Harry interrupts, “I’m willing to try. And I really need you to see the memory, to know – that I’m not lying. Please.”

“Shit, I would never believe that you are lying to me,” Draco says, but he gets up and packs them a bag with all the packing charms Harry never learnt in under a minute.

Harry gets up and calls Ron in the meantime.

“We have to cancel tonight,” Harry says and winces when he hears restaurant noises in the background; they really should have called earlier.

“Is something wrong? Is Olie alright?” Ron asks, immediately on edge and Harry says _yes_ before he has finished talking.

“Remember my 27th birthday?” Harry says, “and you not understanding why Draco and I were not – together?”

“Yes?” Ron says, confused and Harry tells him, and Ron says: “Marcus Flint will rot in hell.”

“I hurt Draco so much, Ron,” Harry says, because he needs to say it to someone and Draco didn’t want to listen. “ _You_ didn’t,” Ron says, “it wasn’t you.”

“I need to have him look at the memory in a pensieve,” Harry says, and Hermione takes the phone then, her voice so very soft when she says, “Take all the time you need. We’ll be eating and drinking on your bill and toast Olie.” “Thanks, Hermione,” Harry says, very dry, and watches Draco come back into the room.

Harry’s already throwing the powder in their fire, smiling at Draco and then they step in together.

 

\--

 

Lucius has a wand drawn when Harry falls flat on his ass coming out of the floo; Draco stands upright perfectly, Olie securely in his arms.

For a moment, nobody moves and then Lucius’ wands clatters to the floor and Harry gets up and Lucius says _Draco_ like a starving man and Draco gives Olie to Harry and crosses the room and flings himself in his father’s arms.

Harry takes Olie for a little tour when Lucius’ shoulders start shaking.

Olie and a portrait cat are in a deep conversation when Lucius and Draco find them.

“Hey Olie,” Harry says when he sees the open longing on Lucius’ face, “wanna meet grandpa?”

Lucius is careful when he holds him, but clearly familiar with babies. Olie sinks a tiny fist in his hair immediately and then sucks on it and Harry winces, but Lucius just smiles at the baby, so warm and so open and then they all retire back into the salon and Lucius has his house-elf serve them some food, while he holds Olie on his lap and feeds him tiny pieces of banana.

“How old is he now?” Lucius asks.

“It’s his birthday today,” Draco says, “we had some plans but something – came up.”

Lucius watches him for a long moment, before turning to Harry to ask another hundred questions about Olie and listens to Harry’s answers with rapt attention.

“It must have been a horrible shock to you,” he says, earnestly sympathetic when Harry tells him about the birth and Draco snorts, saying “you have no idea,” and they launch into a discussion of male pregnancies shortly after.

Olie starts to fuss after a while and Harry knows it’s time to have the tiny bit of nursing he still likes to have, and then putting him to bed and he takes Olie from Lucius, awkward suddenly and Lucius leans forward, weirdly intense.

“Harry,” he says, “you’re family now, and I – I want to apologize to you, sincerely apologize and I want you to know that I hope we can build a positive rapport, that we can – that you spend time here from time to time or anywhere else if it’s distasteful to you being here – and that you feel comfortable around me and –“

“Dad,” Draco says, very quietly, but Harry – spent his childhood in a cupboard and it was lonely, but he thinks spending his time in a fucking Manor all by yourself after your wife died and your son cannot talk to you without ripping his own heart out, must be awfully lonely too and so he nods.

“Just,” he says, “you know Olie is not purebl –“ “I don’t care,” Lucius interrupts, fiercely, sincerely, “it was never – about being pure. He wasn’t. It was about power. Olie is – he is perfect.”

Harry finds himself agreeing with Lucius Malfoy for the first time in his life.

When Olie is down for the night in Draco’s old suite, Draco turns to his father.

“We’ve actually came today, because we need to use your pensieve, Dad,” he says, “sorry for not – coming without incentive.”

Lucius smiles at him, just a little, a warm tiny thing of a smile that Harry has seen before on Draco’s face when he looks at Olie spitting out his peas.

“You are free to use it,” Lucius drawls, “I can create as many incentives for you as you need.”

Draco huffs out a laugh at that and then takes Harry upstairs.

Extracting the memory is not as easy as Harry remembers; maybe that’s nervousness, but it takes him a moment to have it in the pensieve.

“Together?” Draco asks, and they go in together; they come out together and Draco says _Harry_ in such a desperate voice and then they are kissing, colliding into each other. Harry doesn’t think that anything short of Olie being in mortal danger can get him to stop kissing Draco right now, Draco who is crying on his face, who’s sucking in breaths in between kisses, who whispers, _I am so sorry, I should have known something was off, you mean so much to me, you are my_ – and Harry leans back in kisses him again and again, until it isn’t enough.

“I need –“ Harry says and Draco whispers _anything_ and already undoes the zipper of Harry’s jeans, falls to his knees and takes Harry in his mouth.

It wouldn’t take long, but it’s not enough; Harry thumps back on the big wooden table Draco has him against (and he doesn’t even want to think about it being Lucius’) and urges Draco closer, legs falling open as far as they can go with his trouser still caught around his ankle. Draco leans down and undresses him quickly, leans forward to kiss Harry.

“I need you to fuck me,” Harry says, whines really; Draco kisses him desperately again.

“Harry, you’re not ready” he says, but then he leans down to lick Harry anyway, spreads him open with his tongue, whispering a lubrication charm.

He’s three fingers in soon enough and it feels good, burns a little but not in an alarming way. Draco does the protection charm quickly, without a wand, coats his dick in lube again and then he lines up and pushes in, one agonizing inch after agonizing inch.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks urgently, and Harry shakes his head; it hurts, but in a good way, in a way Harry needs right now. They could have been a couple for three years by now already; it’s hard for Harry to wrap his head around it.

“Har _ry_ ,” Draco says after three thrusts and with desperation written in every line of his body; he tries to draw back but Harry cages him in with his legs.

“I can’t,” Draco says, “I’m going to come, let me take a moment –“

“No,” Harry says, “let go, I need you to, just come in me, just –“

“ _Fuck,”_ Draco says and then he’s coming already, thrusting hard twice more, before grinding deep, moaning and whimpering as if it’s so good he can barely take it. His legs start tremoring almost immediately and he collapses on top of Harry, slipping out of him in the process.

“Shit,” he says, “fuck, shit, I’m so sorry, I’m –“ and then he leans up and sucks in Harry’s nipple and just like that Harry is coming too.

They lay on Lucius’ desk for a while longer, sticky and breathless and then Draco chuckles and starts laughing and hides his face against Harry’s neck.

“My father is going to eat me alive for doing that in his office,” he whispers, “I can’t believe I only lasted three seconds, I am so sorry. Please tell me that I didn’t hurt you.”

“Draco,” Harry says, “do you still – what you said three years ago is it still -”

“Harry,” Draco whispers and leans back to look down at him. Harry has never seen him look like that – so intent, so sure.

“I want you,” Draco says, “you are so wanted. You are so loved. You’re my family,” and all Harry can do is cling to him and Draco is holding him so, so close.

 

\--

 

They leave Lucius’ office eventually; Olie is sleeping peacefully in the tiny bed Lucius got from somewhere in the Manor. They both stand and look down at him for a moment and then Draco tugs Harry closer, curls his arms around him and presses his face to his hair.

“I can’t believe he’s one already,” Draco whispers and Harry nods. “It’s been a good year,” he says, and Draco laughs and turns him around and kisses him again, leaning their heads together. “I’m very maudlin right now,” Draco admits, “very close to being unbearably sappy, too,” and Harry tiptoes up to wrap his arms around Draco’s neck.

“Not the only one with that problem,” he whispers, and Draco hugs him closer, turns them around in a fluid motion and lays Harry flat on his old bed.

“Let me have a look at you,” he says, very quietly and Harry watches him open Harry’s zipper and pull down his trousers in silence.

“Feet up,” Draco says, and Harry obeys, shivering a little when Draco spread his ass cheeks apart, when careful fingers probe him a moment later. “You look alright,” Draco says, “I’m going to check for tearing though. This will be very unerotic, sorry.”

Harry snorts. “You could make it more erotic,” he suggests, breathing in when Draco’s finger enters him, and Draco laughs.

“Already?” he says, “and here I thought us being 30 and having a kid would finally calm you down.”

“You’re the only 30-year-old in this room,” Harry says haughtily, and Draco takes away his fingers and kisses him again, as if he can’t help himself.

“True,” he whispers, “but if you would rethink your birthday policy, you could have the bigger party this year.”

“No,” Harry says immediately and wraps his legs around Draco’s waist. They keep kissing each other, simply touching, sinking more and more into one another. Harry can’t remember the last time he had felt so – warm and protected and soft, as if he could finally breathe free, and he nuzzles against Draco’s neck, closes his eyes after a moment and slowly drifts off to sleep, still safe in Draco’s arms.

 

\--

 

Lucius, Draco and Olie are in the salon when Harry finally gives up cuddling back into Draco’s incredibly comfortable bed once more and makes his way downstairs.

Olie is busy trying to pull himself up to become a nuisance on two unsteady legs and he screeches when he sees Harry, almost manages to take a step before he plumbs back down on his bottom and crawls over instead.

“Hey, you,” Harry tells him when they meet, and he picks him up, swings him wide before settling him on his hip.

Draco is grinning like a loon when he looks back up and comes over to them.

They trade pleasantries and Harry has the best coffee of his life. They talk for a while about Lucius’ outreach program, before Draco wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and asks him to come have a look at the gardens.

Olie is beyond himself when Harry puts him down in the grass after they walked for a while. He of course promptly tries to eat it and Draco sighs the sigh of a man tested past his limits before nudging Olie’s mouth away and muttering _babies_ underneath his breath.

“I talked to Ron this morning,” Draco says, “Marcus Flint is not in the UK right now and since he was never a Death Eater, Ron has no idea where he is. But they are looking.”

“Hm,” Harry hums and leans against Draco, closes his eyes to the feel of the early morning sun that shines down on them. The gardens smell delicious; Draco smells even better. Underneath them Olie babbles to himself.

“You’re not interested at all, are you?” Draco says and his voice his incredibly soft and amused.

“The day is too nice so far to think about it,” Harry says and Draco grins and wraps his arm around him, peppering little kisses all up Harry’s neck and hair, while Olie throws pebbles at their feet.  

“Is it?” he asks, voice low and teasing and Harry turns his head up to really kiss him this time, ignores the curl of arousal in his gut. All of this – the sun, the light, the way Draco talks reminds him of Italy when they both first felt as if they were beginning something new.  

“The coffee your father keeps is a gift to mankind,” Harry decides to say, because having a kid makes rolling around in the grass to fuck a bit harder, and Draco laughs. “Given how much it costs, it better should be,” he says and leans down to pick up Olie before slinging an arm around Harry to wander a bit further.

“I didn’t know the Manor could be such a nice place,” Harry says, a little wistfully. Draco rubs his shoulders and hums.

“It used to be my favorite place in the world,” Draco says quietly, “and then after – I couldn’t come back. I don’t think my parents wanted to either but directly after the war there wasn’t much else they could do, so. But it’s nice enough now. My father spent a lot of time hiring curse breakers and breaking curses himself.”

“It certainly shows,” Harry says, “how old are the trees over there?”

“I’m not talking trees with you,” Draco says immediately because he has learnt his lesson by now. Harry shakes his head at him mock sad and Draco grins and it’s all so silly and Harry is so in love.

“I’m so in love with you,” he says, and watches Draco’s eyes go wide and a tad moist and then they are kissing while Olie fists a hand in Harry’s hair and yanks once again and Draco whispers _me too, me too, me too._

Ron is waiting for them with a cuppa in hand on the sundeck when they come back. He doesn’t look like someone who is very much looking forward to fighting crime today; Lucius lounges next to him, but his posture is a bit less relaxed than it was yesterday.

“What brings me here on this grand day, you may ask?” Ron asks once they are in hearing distance. “Why, I only wanted to see my godson and his stupid parents who could have gotten their shit together _literally_ four years ago. Can you believe them Lucius?”

“Hardly,” Lucius drawls and Harry hands Olie over to him, ignores what his heart is doing when he catches the smile Lucius gives Olie.

“Look, my dear friends,” Ron says very grandly, “I came to tell you that we found Marcus Flint early in the morning in Iceland, of all places. Did you know Iceland actually has one of the largest Wizarding communities comparative to its size? I was told so multiple times today. By multiple people. It’s sort of like a conversation opener.”

“Get to the point you gingery fuck,” Draco says and Lucius hisses _language_ at him. It’s clearly an instinctive reaction, gauging by how uncomfortable both of them look after it. Ron on the other hand looks as if Christmas has come early this year.

“The point my dear pale albino friend,” Ron continues, “is that Marcus Flint broke down like a crying tiny baby – no offense to any babies present – and immediately started telling us all about it.”

“Good,” Draco says and then catches Ron’s look. “Oh no, not good? What the fuck is it now?”

“Nothing,” Ron says, “Harry can press charges. But man – I’m not telling you not to, but Flint had it pretty badly. Like a lot of former Slytherins, no matter if they were Death Eaters or not, which he wasn’t really because he doesn’t have the mark. Guilty by association, you know. That guy isn’t even pureblood and yet he couldn’t find a job anywhere. And I believed him when he said that he was horribly sorry for doing that to Harry but that he just – was sure he would end up in Azkaban if he owned up to it. And he was rightfully awfully scared of going there.”

Draco looks off somewhere in the middle distance. Harry looks at Olie.

“Excuse me,” Lucius says smoothly, “but I think this little baby needs a nappy change. I’ll take care of it, shall I,” and with that he went.

“Smooth,” Ron comments once he is out of earshot.

“What could _he_ possibly say to that, Ron?” Draco hisses upset now, and Ron holds up his hands, a true picture of innocence.

“I’m not trying to rile you up, Draco,” he says, “if anything, he would probably have a whole lot to say about how to integrate former Slytherins better. The numbers of House of Slytherin are steadily dropping you know. So many things are so fucked up; our educational system, our political system, our fucking prison system. And I think it’s time – to talk about it. Flint did a horrible thing and I know how much pain it brought both of you, but – justice is something a bit different from what our judicial system makes it out to be. I look at what Flint has done after the war and I can understand why he ended up where he ended up.”

“We don’t deserve to have justice after what we have done, what we believed in. All of us, collectively in Slytherin,” Draco says in a bitterly cold voice. It stops time, a little. Harry wants to reach out to him, but Ron beats him to it, wraps his big hands over Draco’s shoulders. He’s taller and broader than anyone Harry knows; next to him even Draco looks small.

“I’m not going to argue collective justice with you,” Ron says calmly, “but I’m going to look you in the eye and tell you this: I forgave you. Years ago. Fully. I won’t even go into why you were less culpable than some others. I just want you to know that I forgive you trying to kill me and Katie, that I forgive you riling up Harry every fucking year, that I forgive you Crabbe. I forgive you getting the mark and I forgive you not doing anything during the battle. Do you understand, Draco?”

“Stop,” Draco pleads; he’s already sniffling, already heaving, has his hands fisted in Ron’s robes, and Harry goes closer to them to put his hand against Draco’s neck.

“And because I forgive you, I cannot accept attacks on you. I cannot accept attacks on other people who have been to Azkaban, who have done their penance. I cannot accept attacks on someone like Lucius who has by law been acquitted of all crimes unless I start doubting the whole way we do justice. I cannot accept attacks on people living perfectly respectable lives after they’ve been acquitted either, which your father has done. And that’s why – I believe we need to start talking about it. Hermione agrees. I just came her, to well, do my job and ask Harry if he wanted to continue to press charges and to tell the two of you that I’ve had it and we need to start talking. Starting with the Sorting Hat,” Ron says, rubbing Draco’s collarbones.

“I agree,” Harry says. He knows that Draco will never not believe that he has gotten off to easy, but Harry can live with his guilt; it made Draco into who he is today.

“And I’m not saying at all that we will find easy answers,” Ron says, “nothing is ever purely black or white. But if we can’t have an educated discussion in our group of what – 13000 wizards and witches – then I don’t know how we can go on after the war. We’ll just have another one in a few years. We need to understand each other. We need to understand how we came to have Voldemort. We need to question all of our remembrance policies up to today without of course negating how wrong Voldemort and his blood policies were.”

“What are you saying?” Draco says. His eyes are dry again and Harry rubs his hand down his back.

“Nothing yet,” Ron says, “I want to know if Harry wants to press charges and then I want the four of us to sit down and start talking. Invite other people to start talking with us until eventually we have an idea on how to go on.”

“You wouldn’t press charges?” Harry asks, and Ron shakes his head. “So I won’t. I trust your judgement.” Draco doesn’t look quite as convinced but he doesn’t say anything.

“Oliver will be pleased to hear that,” Ron says, “Wood, I mean. They’ve been married for a year and boy, I’ve never met a more competitive couple. I seriously do not want to imagine their sex live.”

Draco hits him over the head.

 

\--

 

On the day Harry turns 30, Draco takes him and Olie to the zoo.

Harry has no idea how he does it, how he always knows Harry’s deepest desires. Harry dreamed of going to the zoo for his birthday ever since he understood what a birthday was. He never hoped to go, knowing that the Dursleys would never take him and he didn’t go as an adult either, feeling silly to even entertain the idea.

Draco apparently did some research, because they don’t go in Paris; Draco floos them to Basel instead, keeps telling Harry of the history of the zoo there. Harry’s listening, handing some pieces of banana to Olie who’s sitting in his pram, but he can’t really pay attention.

“How did you know?” he asks when they wait in line to get their tickets; Draco’s face makes a complicated little thing. “I never told you.”

“No,” Draco admits, “Hermione once told me that you had told her to go to a zoo with Rose on her first birthday and I kind of put it together from there.”

“How did you not end up in Ravenclaw again?” Harry asks, so fucking touched he needs to joke about it or he will burst in tears right then and there.

“My boggart was my father,” Draco says, and he doesn’t have to say anything else; Harry understands.

Olie is completely fascinated by the animals and Harry is too, but he finds himself studying his son more and more as the day draws on. It’s so nice seeing Olie happy and carefree; all Olie knows is love and Harry would die to keep it this way.

He’s getting maudlin thinking about it; how children everywhere can go unloved, how children everywhere don’t have Dads or Moms or other adults protecting them, how children everywhere can get to know violence and grow up violent in turn. In a way, Harry did too; not being loved by the Dursleys, not knowing self-worth has made his journey easier, but he wonders, now, after all these years, if Dumbledore being the smart man he was didn’t know what would happen, leaving him at the Dursleys; if Dumbledore being the smart man he was didn’t make that decision knowing what could happen if Harry wasn’t the kind of person willing to make sacrifices.

Being an adult, Harry isn’t sure what he would do, being faced with the same impossible decisions. All he knows is that he would rather die than having Olie go through it, but really, he doesn’t want any kid to go through it.

If it needed to be done, he’s still glad it was him; and he can still be glad to get to live this life alongside Draco and their child after it was all done with.

Draco doesn’t say anything when Harry gets quieter and quieter, but he makes them take a break near a little play pen for kids. Harry sits down at the edge of the sandpit, watching Draco put Olie down. Olie pats the sand with his hands before starting to crawl towards Harry, using Harry’s knees to pull himself upright. He can stand now, take a few wobbly steps, if you support him and Harry does, while Draco sits down next to them, gets some water and some fruit for Olie to snack on.

“Sorry,” Harry says eventually. Draco snorts.

“I knew this wouldn’t be an easy day for you,” he says, calmly, “but I’m hoping it’s – still good, coming here. With our kid.”

“Certainly putting things in perspective,” Harry says and can’t go on, because he’s choking up.

“My Harry,” Draco says, and Harry draws in a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to keep you from having a very significant meltdown,” Draco continues, “but our child is trying to eat sand. I already cleaned the milk spit-up from two hours ago; this is your job.”

Harry snorts and goes.

Olie falls asleep in his pram a while later; they have seen all of the animals they wanted to see, but Draco and Harry keep strolling, looking at some of the smaller enclosures. It’s peaceful and quiet and Draco puts a hand in Harry’s neck, gently rubbing every once in a while.

“Would you have done it?” Harry asks when they drive back to the inner city in a tram, “left me at the Dursleys if you had the power to take me away from them knowing all that would come?”

Draco sighs and puts an arm around Harry; they both look at Olie still asleep in front of them.

“What do you mean?” Draco asks and lets his hand wander into Harry’s hair.

“If I had grown up – normal,” Harry starts and looks at Olie and amends, “I mean loved. I’m not sure I would’ve been ready to go to the forest. To, you know, die.”

“I never thought of it this way,” Draco says, eventually, in a very even voice, that Harry knows means that he’s angry as hell, “but if that’s what he was thinking, Dumbledore was even more twisted than I thought.”

“He already went through not being prepared for what was to come with Grindelwald,” Harry says and then cuddles up to Draco, tugs himself against Draco’s neck. It’s the safest place Harry knows. Draco leans them back against their seats, holding Harry close.

“I can’t answer this question freely,” Draco says after a while, “I can see the logic of what you’re saying but it’s – twisted. Do I approve of it knowing what it did to the man I love? Certainly not. Am I freaking happy you got rid of Voldemort for all of us? Definitely. Do I think you needed to be brought up the way you were to do it? No idea. And besides, we don’t know for sure that that was what Dumbledore wanted to do to you when he left you with the Dursleys.”

“It makes it easier for me, thinking like this,” Harry admits, “knowing I had a purpose staying with them. It’s harder thinking that – nobody cared.”

Draco looks at him, takes his hand after a moment, kisses his knuckles and fingertips.

“I want another one,” Harry says, looking at Olie and Draco snorts. “I’ll carry next time,” he says, “your body worries me too much for you to do it again.”

“Okay,” Harry says, thinking of a big, happy family, living somewhere quieter where children can roam free for the day and return for dinner to their home, resting in love, never doubting that their only purpose is to grow up in whichever way they want.

“Why are you thinking about it now though?” Draco asks, and Harry groans.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “I was thinking. About childhood. Being a happy child. I’m just – don’t you think it would be lonely for him, all by himself?”

“He’s got rather a lot of Weasley cousins,” Draco says in the tones of a man stressed beyond his limits by having to deal with said cousins, “he’s not growing up in a cupboard or a Manor where all the portraits report back to his daddies. He’s just fine.”

Harry laughs and reaches out to smooth down Olie’s shirt. “I know that. I know he’s not us. But he’s so cute and he’s already so big and I just – I want more of them. A lot of tiny replicas of you running around and driving me nuts.”

“I’m not opposed,” Draco says, grinning now, “even though the next one wouldn’t look so much like me. I just – he will never know loneliness the way you or I did, Harry. He’ll also have his fair share of problems given who his fathers are but feeling alone and unsure of our love for him – that won’t be one of them.”

“No,” Harry agrees and relaxes in Draco’s arms.

“We could get married, you know, before we have another one,” Draco says, and his tone is just as confident as always, but he’s gripping Harry a tiny bit tighter; Harry knows him well enough to know that his mouth has just run away with him and that he is most likely wishing fervently for death.

Harry turns around to look at him, doesn’t want to do this without seeing Draco. As he expected, Draco is half grimacing, but there’s a glint underneath it, something raw and honest.

It’s not really crazy, not by Harry’s standards. For him, they’ve been a couple since that night in Italy; they have a kid. He knows like he knows that the trees will slowly change color in the next few months, that Draco will always be his one, true love.

“Simply ceremony this week,” he says, and revels in the way Draco’s face comes alive with the same deep joy Harry feels. “You, me, your Dad, Ron, Hermione, Blaise and Pansy. Olie of course. No suits, no expensive rings; afterwards I want you to take us for a nice lunch and then Olie stays with your Dad for the rest of the day and we go home and fuck and pick him back up the next morning and then we’ll go to Italy for our honeymoon. Same place where we started.”

“Harry,” Draco says, aching and needy and then they kiss, and Harry fists his hands in Draco’s shirt. “God,” Draco says when they break apart, “Harry, stop – are you really sure?”

The _with me and all that I’ve done_ goes unsaid, but it’s there.

“You’re my family,” Harry says knowing that Draco out of all people in the world will understand what it means for him to say it.

“You’re mine too,” Draco echoes his own words from years ago, reaches up to hold Harry’s hands where they are still gripping his shirt. “I only have one condition, though.” Harry nods at him to go on and Draco swallows, once. “I want to take your name,” he says. Harry looks at him for a moment, watches his beloved face before he nods, and they kiss again.

Out of all people in the world, Harry will understand what it means for Draco to say that, too.  

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised - one last flashback, followed by an epilogue that I am currently writing to finish this story up. Hope you like this chapter and the last one. 
> 
> Some warnings apply for consent issues.

They had barely seen each other; when Harry had floo’ed to Paris after a week of silence after the party, Draco had opened the door looking heartsick and weary.

 

“What do you want Harry?” he had asked tiredly, and Harry had fidgeted, not understanding a thing, terror closing his throat. _What have I done_ , he kept thinking and despaired about it.

 

“I just wanted to see you,” Harry said, “you haven’t answered my texts or my calls and I just – worry.”

 

Draco thumped his head softly against the wood of the door he was leaning against.

 

“And you can’t imagine why?” he asked very softly, and Harry hung his head.

 

“Please,” Harry tried, “I’m sorry I’m just – Draco –“

 

“I need some space,” Draco said, “can you at least give me that? I don’t think it’s too much to ask.”

 

Harry didn’t dare to look up when he nodded, when he turned around, when Draco swore behind him and reached out a hand to wrap around Harry’s biceps.

 

“I’m sorry we want different things,” he said, and Harry wanted to curl up in a corner and say _but you promised, you promised you would love me._ “And I’m sorry I am not adapting very well,” Draco continued, “and I am sorry I am hurting you with – that. But I am also hurt. I will call you once I am ready, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Harry croaked out and went back home and tried not to drink himself into a stupor every day before 11 am.

 

 

\--

 

Then Aunt Petunia died eight weeks after Harry’s 27th birthday. Harry got a short email by Dudley, telling him about the date of the funeral in a week and that Dudley would be happy if Harry could make it.

 

Harry let it sit in his inbox for days, unsure of what to do with it.

 

A part of him wanted to go and see her buried in the ground and be done with that part of his childhood and another part of him was horrified at that notion, scared of meeting Uncle Vernon, scared of seeing Dudley.

 

Harry didn’t talk about it with Draco or Ron or Hermione until the night before the funeral and then it burst all out of him when he was sitting down with Ron and Hermione for dinner. He would have asked earlier, but Draco was still distant after Harry’s birthday and Harry was afraid he wouldn’t listen or tell Harry that he was on his own and Ron and Hermione were both angry with him too without saying why. Harry had only come to dinner that night because Hermione had said that she worried about him and he didn’t want worry; he would be fine, and they would leave him in peace.

 

“Alright, Harry,” Ron said when Harry was done with explaining it, “what do you want to do?”

 

“I need some advice,” Harry said, “would you go if it was you?”

 

“Harry,” Hermione said, very gently chiding him.

 

“I know,” Harry said, “I know you don’t like giving advice to me about these things, but I – what if I regret not going? It’s not like I can go again. What if I go and Uncle Vernon calls me a freak and I freak out about it and –“

 

“Shh,” Ron said, “don’t get worked up about it. That’s my advice.”

 

“Please, Ron,” Harry said, and Ron looked at him for a long moment before sharing a weary glance with Hermione.

 

“What was your first instinct when you heard about it?” Hermione asked.

 

“I wanted to go,” Harry admitted, and Hermione nodded. “That’s your answer then,” she said.

 

When Harry got up the next morning, he wasn’t so sure any longer.

 

His hands shook like crazy when he tied his tie. He looked ridiculous in his suit; it was hanging off him and Harry realized all at once that he must have lost a lot of weight.

 

He went down to the parlor, thinking about where to apparate when he caught sight of one of Draco’s books on his coffee table. Draco had left it there weeks ago; Draco might never pick it back up and the weight of that thought crushed all around Harry and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

 

If he went to the funeral now, he would need to do it alone. He was alone again but it wasn’t just that – it needed to be Draco, could be no one else. He would rather be alone than with someone else, someone not Draco and he shuddered with the thought, tears pressing against his eyes.

 

He was alone and that by itself was bad, but he was without _Draco_ and that was horrible.

 

Harry was about to go back upstairs and cry his heart out when the bell rang. He didn’t expect anyone and hesitated for a moment before going to the door and opening it.

 

Draco looked ridiculously good in his black Muggle suit; Ron and Hermione were dressed rather elegantly as well.

 

Harry’s heart felt as if it was going to burst or implode or drag him under.

 

“Hey,” Draco said after a moment of silence and Harry tried to say _hey_ back, but his voice was gone, and he needed to clear his throat first, wanted to die with the awkwardness.

 

“Good,” Hermione said, “we weren’t sure we would still catch you.”

 

“Er,” Harry said, helplessly lost, “er, I don’t really have time now – I kind of need to get going,” he finished awkwardly.

 

“I know?” Hermione asked confused and Harry knew all at once that he couldn’t go; that what he needed was to go back upstairs and sit down in his shower.

 

“I don’t think I am,” he said and watched his shoes, “going, you know. After all. I think I won’t – be doing that.”

 

“Why not Harry?” Draco asked, and Harry jerked with hearing his voice. Ron shifted but Harry didn’t look up, kept watching his beat-up black shoes.

 

“Is it because your suit is helplessly wrinkled?” Draco asked innocently, and Harry shrugged, couldn’t laugh about the joke.

 

“I don’t think I can – do it,” he said as quietly as he could because a part of him didn’t want them to hear, “you know, going there by myself and you know, talking with – them and –“

 

“We’ll come with you then,” Draco said as if it was easy, as if it wasn’t a big thing at all and he stepped forward, hand going for his wand.

 

“Let me at least unwrinkle this for you,” Draco said, “is that suit new? Are you planning on doing bodybuilding soon or why did you buy something two sizes too big? Wishful thinking won’t make you taller Harry.”

 

“Er, no,” Harry said and felt Draco’s magic tingle over him, “that’s um, my old suit. The one I bought in Paris.”

 

Draco stopped, wand hand dropping low. “Oh,” he said after a moment, and then he stepped back, not looking at Harry. He looked in the distance instead, blinking rapidly.

 

“How do we get there?” Ron asked. He sounded very calm, as if he needed to force himself not to shout. “I’ve been a few times, so I can apparate Draco and Harry takes Hermione okay?”

 

“Sure,” Hermione said decisively and stepped forward.

 

“We need to go to the chapel,” Harry said, “I wanted to apparate to – the graveyard nearby. There’s an alcove thing. I can – side-along all of you, I guess.”

 

“Good,” Ron said, and he and Hermione reached out to touch Harry. Draco stepped quickly forward too, wrapped his hand around Harry’s wrist.

 

When they arrived at Little Whinging, he squeezed Harry’s hand once before stepping away, briefly tangling their fingers.

 

The chapel was still as old as Harry remembered it, serving the cluster of middle-class family homes in the neighborhood. The priest wasn’t the same any longer and it didn’t surprise him; when Harry saw him from time to time on Sundays he was already old.

 

Draco said something to Hermione while Harry stood frozen and then Hermione went forward and took Harry’s hand, linking their fingers, and tugged until Harry started walking. Most of the small congregation of people saying goodbye to Petunia today where already inside and Harry saw Uncle Vernon’s big head tower above some other relatives. He saw Marge and his heart went pitter-patter in his chest, and he needed to restrain himself from letting go of Hermione and reaching out for Draco; he didn’t want a shouting match about even more unnaturalness with Uncle Vernon. He didn’t want Aunt Marge to look at Draco and call him a poof. He wasn’t sure Draco wouldn’t shake him off.

 

Draco herded them into a small row towards the end of the cluster of people and slid in after Harry, pressing his leg against Harry’s once they were seated. Somebody started to dispense the funeral leaflet and Harry looked at it, not reading a word when the first notes of the organ drifted down on them. The singing started up then, off-key and pitiful, the few people present not able to fill up the chapel with sound and it was awful, and Harry’s knee was shaking, and Hermione reached up and stroked the hair at the nape of his neck while Draco laid his hand on his knee, gently pressing. Ron was next to Draco and the only one of them singing with the others and Harry was thankful for it.

 

After the service, people lined up to go to say a few words of comfort to Uncle Vernon and Dudley who were standing up front before proceeding to stand in front of Aunt Petunia’s casket and saying a few words to her too. Harry hadn’t seen Dudley when they came in; Dudley had grown up much taller than him and he was still heavy in the middle, but his chest was broad and defined and his hands were big and steady.

 

“Do you want to go up?” Hermione asked, and Harry didn’t know. Ron and Draco were already standing and waiting for them to slide out of their bench; when Harry stumbled out, Draco pressed their shoulders together for a moment.

 

“Maybe that’s enough Harry?” Ron asked, and he looked worried and Harry looked up and caught Marge looking at him over the heads of the other people and he moved forward as if on auto pilot.

 

Uncle Vernon’s face was red and puffy when Harry had made it up front, even though he hadn’t cried during the service. His lips thinned when he saw Harry and Harry squared his shoulders and held out his hand. It took a moment, but Uncle Vernon took it; Dudley came closer and smiled at Harry and said _Hi Harry_ in a breathless tone.

 

“Didn’t know you had invited the ruts of the litter too, Vernon,” Marge said, but Harry ignored her, saying his condolences without stumbling over his words. Uncle Vernon nodded at him and Marge sneered, and Harry went and looked at the casket and didn’t have a single thought in his mind at all until he was back with Draco and Hermione and Ron.

 

Draco’s face was impassive while Ron looked uncomfortable and Hermione upset, and Harry wanted to lean his head against Draco’s shoulder and have him hold Harry; instead he took Hermione’s hand again.

 

“Shall we go?” Ron asked, and Harry nodded, and they had just stepped outside when Dudley was calling Harry’s name.

 

“Harry,” Dudley said and put his big hand on Harry’s shoulder and Harry restrained himself as hard as he could from flinching away from him; still his unoccupied hand made a tiny motion towards Draco and Draco stepped closer a moment later, saying “you must be Dudley,” when Harry couldn’t say anything at all.

 

“Yeah,” Dudley said, “are you friends of Harry?”

 

“Yes,” Draco said calmly, “hope you don’t mind we tagged along.” He didn’t add a justification for doing so and Dudley swallowed and said it was no problem at all.

 

“Listen, Harry,” he said, “I was wondering – if maybe you wanted to get together for a beer sometime? There are – I want – there are a few things, I would like to talk about if you don’t mind.”

 

Harry nodded and said sure and Dudley smiled at him.

 

“There’s a small reception at the old house now,” Dudley said, “you’re invited of course. Your friends too. Dad and Marge and Aunt Clara are there and a few friends of hers from the gardening club. I would really – appreciate it if you could come. There are some things at the house I believe to be yours.”

 

“Sure,” Harry said again, with false cheer and Dudley nodded and said he would drive over and see them there in a hot minute.

 

“We don’t have to go, Harry,” Hermione said once he was gone. Ron nodded emphatically. “I don’t know,” Harry said and looked at Draco and Draco just looked back at him, steady and untroubled. “Let Harry make up his mind,” he said, and Hermione nodded, and Ron said “sure” so hastily that Harry knew without doubt that Draco had had a chat with them before they came here; that that was why they asked so little questions and he was so thankful he could have cried.

 

They went to the house.

 

It was just as Harry had remembered.

 

He caught Ron and Hermione staring at the cupboard and felt uncomfortable. Draco had introduced himself to Marge and undoubtedly cozied up to her because he came back with four glasses of punch and distributed them, and Harry drank his too fast and Draco simply gave him his own after.

 

The day was hot; the house was hot. Harry ended up in the garden, talking to Aunt Clara, who he had never seen much as a child. She was quieter and less harsh than Marge and Vernon and it was okay to talk to her. He saw Ron, Hermione and Draco in conversation with Dudley and it made him a little itchy, but he didn’t go to them; it seemed easier to stay well outside.

 

The guests started to clear out after an hour of cake and punch and Dudley took Harry upstairs to his old bedroom. Nothing was the same in the room Harry had once occupied; it had become a little studio with Aunt Petunia’s artwork hanging on the wall and a sewing machine in the corner.

 

“Here,” Dudley said and took a little cardboard box out of the dresser and gave it to Harry. An old quill was in it and a tiny toy soldier Harry had found as a kid, and a few pictures of Harry and Dudley as children. There was the small towel that used to be his and a comb that was missing some of its teeth. There was the fly Harry had worn to one of Uncle Vernon’s work events and a collection of stamps Harry had started before realizing that no one ever wrote him any letters, and a collection of sticks he had started.

 

Dudley was talking to him, saying things about their childhood and that he was sorry, but Harry wasn’t listening. This was all there was; this was all it had been, and he felt so hollow suddenly. There was nothing more and Harry felt it like a punch to the chest.

 

“Are you okay, Harry?” Dudley said and there was a knock on the door and Draco was there and he took one look at Harry’s cardboard box and took it out of Harry’s hand. “I’ll give you a moment,” Dudley said and went out and Draco reached for Harry immediately, allowed him to curl into Draco and Harry could not _not_ even though everything was so hopelessly tangled between them.

 

“You’re doing so well,” Draco said, softly, after some minutes had passed, “but let me take you home now. I think it’s enough, don’t you think?” Harry nodded, and Draco shrank his box and put it into his suit pocket without letting go of Harry, stroked his hair back and pressed his lips against Harry’s scar for a long moment and Harry wanted to cry because everything was too confusing and too much.

 

Downstairs, Harry said goodbye to Uncle Vernon and Marge; Marge nodded at him and Uncle Vernon too and then they were outside, and Draco’s hand was on his elbow and then they were in a small alley and Draco side-apparated Harry back to Hermione’s and Ron’s flat.

 

They ended up going to the old pub they all used to go to when Draco still lived in London and after a few beers Hermione was teary-eyed, and Ron was stoic, and Draco was just as always. Harry’s box was still shrunken down in Draco’s suit pocket and Harry was thankful that Draco hadn’t let Ron or Hermione see it. He thanked them when they all went outside around midnight and Ron said, “any time mate,” and Hermione said, “we love you so much,” before they apparated home.

 

Draco turned to him and Harry tried to continue breathing calmly. He would say goodbye, and this was going to be it, but he was still so grateful that Draco had come today, done this for him.

 

“If you don’t mind,” Draco said, “I would crash at your place. I took tomorrow off and it’s quite late for the journey back anyway.”

 

Harry nodded, not daring to ask anything else and Draco took his elbow again before apparating them to Grimmauld.

 

Once they were inside, Draco turned Harry around and slipped his suit jacket off his shoulders, eyes intense. He leaned down, their lips close to each other. He hesitated for a moment, eyes searching Harry’s face before Draco closed his eyes and kissed Harry, a soft, lingering kiss, that had Harry chasing up after him when he pulled back. Draco smiled and leaned back down to kiss the corner of his mouth.

 

“I missed you,” he said very quietly. “I want to – see you again. If that’s alright Harry?”

 

“Please,” Harry said, and they kissed again, Draco gently tracing a finger over Harry’s cheekbone.

 

“No promises,” he said, “no exclusiveness. No more lies about what we want. Can we do that?”

 

Harry nodded, nervous and unsure, heart half-breaking over Draco’s words. But he would do anything – anything – to have him back.

 

“Come upstairs,” Draco said, and Harry followed him, watched in silence when Draco did a quick cleaning charm on the bedroom, when Draco went to the bathroom and run a cool bath for Harry, when Draco settled behind him in the tub to massage his neck. Eventually, Harry turned around, ignored the water slushing over the rim and wrapped his arms around Draco, curled against his neck.

 

“They didn’t love me,” Harry said against his neck and Draco wrapped himself all around him and said, “no, they didn’t,” and Harry said, “I was just a kid, Draco,” and Draco said, “yes. It wasn’t your fault,” and Harry said, “I didn’t really understand that I – was just a kid,” and Draco said, “it’s okay, Harry,” and Harry said, “why didn’t they love me,” and Draco said “I don’t know, sweetie, but Ron and Hermione and me love you so much now,” and Harry said “how can you,” and Draco said “because we do and you deserve it and we’ll never stop,” and then Draco hushed him and said nothing else.

 

\--

 

Harry woke up the next morning to Draco stroking his hair. When he blinked his eyes open, Draco was just inches away from him, head steadied by one of his hands, while he run the other over Harry’s neck up in his hair, again and again.

 

“You should cut it,” Draco said, “it looks better when you shave it at the base and let your curls drop down. It would look even better if you finally start using all the curly hair products I got you.”

 

“Hm,” Harry said. He was equally aroused, terrified and weirded out; yesterday he thought that Draco was done with him and today Draco was here, chest pressing against Harry’s naked back, cock pressing against Harry’s naked ass. Draco wasn’t hard yet, but he was getting there.

 

“Harry,” Draco said and leaned forward to kiss the nape of his neck, to nuzzle up against Harry’s hair.

 

“Draco?” Harry asked; his voice was higher and shriller than he liked, and Draco kissed him, sucked at the sensitive skin behind his ear.

“I have no idea why I like you so much,” Draco said, almost to himself, “why I am still so fucking into you after everything. I don’t know how to quit you.”

 

Harry tried to get up then. Draco’s words were like pinpricks over his skin and he wanted to move away, but Draco wrapped his arms around his torso, slung a leg over Harry’s legs, grinded down against his ass and Harry moaned, cock filling despite himself.

 

“We won’t do that to each other again, okay?” Draco said, slowly rocking his hips in the crease of Harry’s ass, “we won’t keep playing these games, okay? I love you, you love me, and we don’t work with each other, but we can still – love each other. Fuck. See our kids grow up together, maybe. We don’t have to be so miserable about it and lose two fucking stone in the span of two months, okay?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked and moaned when Draco whispered a lubrication charm, when Draco whispered another charm to open Harry up.

 

“You being a stick figure,” Draco said and pushed in and Harry twisted around to kiss him. Draco started slow and got faster and harder until he was pounding Harry, until Harry turned his head into his pillow so Draco wouldn’t see his face. It was somehow both the best fuck of Harry’s life and the worst, somehow felt like both solvation and punishment and Harry moaned and groaned and whimpered with it and then suddenly he was crying. He tried to hide it from Draco and it worked a minute or two before Harry drew in a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob and Draco stilled behind him abruptly.

 

“Harry?” he said and there was panic in his voice and Harry drew in another sobbing breath and Draco scrambled back, hands frantic when he tried to tug Harry away from the pillow.

 

Harry couldn’t though; he was still hard and more confused than ever before in his live and he grabbed the pillow and hid his face and sobbed.

 

“Oh my god,” Draco was saying, “oh fuck, oh shit, please – did I hurt you? Harry, shit, didn’t you want to? Harry, oh my god, please talk to me, please –“

 

“I don’t want you to go,” Harry wailed, and Draco plastered himself over him, shushing him, wrapped his arms around Harry as tight as he could and then he pressed his face against Harry’s neck and waited while Harry cried. Harry’s neck got wetter too, but Draco made no sound.

 

When Harry had calmed down again, he turned around in Draco’s arms. Draco was pale and pasty, his eyes rimmed in red. His eyes searched Harry’s face almost desperately before he leaned down and kissed him. Draco wasn’t hard; but Harry still was, and he rubbed up against Draco’s abs until Draco took him in hand and stroked him, slowly, eyes never leaving Harry’s face. When he came, Draco leaned forward and sucked at his throat, kissed his Adam’s apple.

 

“Harry,” he said, and Harry didn’t even know what he sounded like, but he didn’t sound like Draco at all. “I’m so sorry,” Draco said, “I’ve never – this is the worst thing I have ever done, and I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened and I am –“

 

“I love you,” Harry interrupted, already at the verge of sleep again; he felt as if all of it was catching up with him all at once; their break-up, their reunion, Aunt Petunia, the sex they just had – and he was so tired suddenly, so bone-deep weary.

 

Draco made a sound as if he had been punched in the stomach before leaning down and kissing Harry’s eyelids, his temple. “I don’t deserve you, not even now,” he whispered, and Harry fell asleep before he could ask him what he meant.

 

\--

 

The next time he woke up, a cooling charm was softly blasting cool air over Harry; Draco had opened the window and the cool air from his charm and the hot air from outside mingled pleasantly.

 

The sun was already high up in the sky and Harry stretched; he couldn’t remember when he had last slept in for so long and he felt dizzy and hazy.

 

Draco wasn’t upstairs, and Harry brushed his teeth quickly before going down to search for him. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the parlor; Harry’s heart started beating faster before he saw the open door to the backyard and breathed out in relief.

 

Draco was only wearing a billowy shirt and his briefs. He was sitting on the grass and wrote something in his journal, a cup of coffee next to him. He looked up when Harry’s shadow fell on him; his eyes were lighter than usual and very guarded.

 

“Hey,” Harry said, and Draco smiled at him, a twitch of his lips.

 

“You have no food in the house,” he said, and Harry sat down next to him, not touching him. “You realize you need food in the house to actually eat food, yes?” Draco asked and leaned over and kissed Harry.

 

“Er,” Harry said, and Draco laughed and got up, stretched out his hand to Harry. “Let’s go shopping,” he said, and Harry let himself be tugged along like he always did when it came to Draco.

 

They didn’t mention that day again; Draco also refused to fuck Harry for almost half a year and then only did it with others around as if he didn’t trust himself, but it would take Harry ages to make the connection.

 

\--

 

Four weeks after Aunt Petunia had been buried, Dudley wrote Harry another email, telling him that he was in London on Friday and asked if they wanted to meet up. Harry read it and sat on it and discussed the issue at length with his therapist and on Thursday evening, he told Draco that he would be in London over the weekend to meet his cousin and spent a bit of time with Hermione and Ron. He was still mostly living there, but his job allowed him to work from anywhere and he found himself spending a lot of time in Paris. Draco didn’t appear to mind either way and it sometimes discouraged Harry, but he still went to Draco’s flat when he felt it easier to breathe with Draco around.

 

Draco looked up from where he was reading on the couch when Harry slumped next to him. Harry had caught one look at the title of the book – _trauma survivors and long-term effects on physical well-being –_ and decided not to ask how his reading was going.

 

He knew Draco was working on creating a potion that worked better than calming draught by targeting more specific centers in the brain thought to influence different manifestations of “calmness” as Draco liked to call it; something that would help someone with anxiety or panic or disassociation because these things were not the same. He knew that Draco was also working on a more durable potion solution for disturbed sleep in a similar vein; something to take for nightmares versus insomnia versus deep sleep. Harry had looked at some of the research and thought that it was interesting but the thing he understood the least in magic was potions and so he hadn’t bothered with understanding much of it. He only knew that it was slow-going, and Draco was annoyed by it; had been a lot more annoyed over it since Harry’s birthday to say the truth.

 

“I’m meeting Dudley on Friday,” Harry said and fidgeted with his hands. Draco put away his book and leaned back on the couch, studying Harry.

 

“Okay,” he said. This at least was the same; Draco never said anything about Harry’s plans or feelings at first, always waited until Harry had sorted out his words.

 

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Harry admitted, “I’ll be terribly disappointed if he doesn’t bring up our childhood, but I also don’t want to talk about it with him.”

 

“That’s a bit of a problem,” Draco said, calmly, and Harry waited for a moment, before asking.

 

“Would you consider coming with me?” he asked, and Draco sighed.

 

“I set up an experiment today that I need to monitor over the weekend,” he said, “it will be a real hassle and very expensive if I have to redo it. If you need me there, maybe it would be best to reschedule.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling small. Draco had never not come with him before if Harry had asked not to go alone.

 

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, and he sounded very honest, but he also hadn’t touched Harry much since Aunt Petunia’s burial, despite saying that it could all go back to the way it had been. He was also at work a lot more. At night, he didn’t pillow his head on Harry’s chest and it felt wrong; Harry’s chest felt as if there was a hole where Draco’s head used to be.

 

“No worries,” Harry said, with false cheer, “I’ll just ask Hermione. Or Ron. If I have a crying fit, it’s only fair to have one of them deal with it from time to time.”

 

“You won’t have a crying fit,” Draco said, very calmly, “you’re a lot further along in your healing journey. It might not be comfortable or easy meeting your cousin, but you are completely capable to make the decision to leave if you don’t feel fine in the situation.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry said, not looking at him. Draco sighed.

 

“Harry, I really am sorry,” Draco repeated after a moment, “I can maybe ask Céline if she can –“

 

“No, it’s alright,” Harry interrupted him, “I understand. It’s not a big deal. It’s just – it would have been nice to have you there, but I can do it.”

 

“You can,” Draco affirmed, and he was right.

 

Harry spent a nice enough evening with Dudley and he didn’t even feel like crying once. Then he came to Draco’s flat and met Hénry for the first time and after Draco had closed the bedroom door again to continue fucking Hénry, Harry went out to get a coffee and walked through Paris for three hours until he found a quiet corner in a tiny park, where he shed a tear or two.

 

\--

 

“It’s not like you wanted to be exclusive,” Draco hissed three days later, when Harry finally found the courage to ask. Draco sounded bitter and hurt and Harry shrank back from him and didn’t find any Gryffindor bravery anywhere in him.

 

“I’m just surprised,” he said eventually, “I know we’re not official but – it’s sudden somehow and you’ve been a bit – withdrawn and if I bother you, I’ll just get out of the way.”

 

Draco deflated at that, rubbing his eyes roughly.

 

“You know, you don’t,” he said, “it’s just – I want – I just want some new experiences okay? It’s nothing really serious with Hénry and it’s definitely even less serious with some other friends of mine, but I enjoy it. You’re obviously not uncomfortable with it, so what’s the deal Harry?”

 

 _I am so freaking uncomfortable with it,_ Harry thought, and he just didn’t get it; how Draco could go from being so into Harry to disliking Harry so obviously in just a few short weeks but. But really. Maybe there just was something unlovable in Harry after all; maybe Harry was just too fucked up after all.

 

“There’s no deal,” Harry said very quietly, “I just – I – do you –“

 

“Harry, _please,_ ” Draco said, and he sounded impatient, but also pleading, and Harry’s heart felt as if it would pitter patter out of his chest. “Just please get one with it. I still need to read almost a hundred pages before work tomorrow.”

 

Harry swallowed all the other things he wanted to say, not feeling comfortable dripping over his words. Draco had always waited him out in the past. “I think I’m going back to London tomorrow,” he said, “I need to go on patrol soon and prepare for it. I’ll not come to Paris for at least three weeks, I think,” and turned away.

 

“Okay?” Draco asked, brow furrowed.

 

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “So you have some time to yourself and your – you know – guy.”

 

“Guy?” Draco drawled, “he’s a fuck. A pretty good one. Don’t act so shy about that; I know you don’t have any problems with casual sex.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry whispered, and Draco looked at him for a moment before he returned to his reading and Harry went to the kitchen and cleaned manually and cooked manually and they ate in front of the telly without saying a word and at night Harry curled around his pillow and lay awake, until he finally gave up on sleep, slipped out of bed and into his clothes and left the apartment.

 

The nights weren’t quite as warm any longer, but Harry kept walking for a long time, simply following wherever his feet wanted to go, letting his mind drift.

 

Draco was sitting at his kitchen table when he came back at around five in the morning, looking drawn and tired, a glass of Firewhiskey in front of him.

 

“ _Harry,_ ” he said when he saw Harry and stood up and hugged Harry, running his hands over him. “Are you hurt?” Draco asked, “where were you? Why didn’t you take your phone? Darling, you didn’t even have your wand, you –“

 

“Don’t,” Harry said, wriggling out of his grasp. He didn’t want it – the worrying and the comforting. He didn’t want it as long as Draco didn’t want him.

 

“Sorry that I am not adapting so well,” Draco said, his voice almost breaking, “sorry that I am such a bother for you with my expectations and hopes.”

 

“I was just walking,” Harry said, roughly, feeling as if Draco was having a conversation with Harry he just didn’t understand, “I couldn’t sleep. Sorry for worrying you.”

 

“I don’t understand what you want,” Draco said, exhausted, “why do you treat me like this, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, not understanding, and so he simply left, went into the bathroom and took the longest shower of his life. Draco had left for work when he came back out and Harry hovered, unsure, before leaving him a short note, packed a bag and went to London.

\--

 

The first time it happened, they haven’t had sex in over seven months. They were both just the right amount of drunk, the kind of drunk when everything is soft and hazy around the edges, when it’s easy to reach out a hand to your sometimes-never-exclusively-but-still-the-only-love-of-my-life lover and tug him into the kiss you were sharing with a stranger in a club.

 

That first time, it didn’t go beyond blowjobs, Draco and the stranger were looking up at Harry and Harry moaned; it was so goddamn hot that he barely knew what to do with himself. But after that, it went further pretty fast, almost as if they had finally found a way again to be intimate. It didn’t hurt so much when Draco said, _you look so goddamn good, I love your cock, be my pretty boy, just like that honey,_ and there was someone else with them; these words could be for the strangers and semi-strangers, and it wasn’t as heartbreaking to share intimacy and still get the same distant Draco the next morning.

 

It was a fucking power trip to have Draco be protective of him when they did this, when he told the strangers what to do, what Harry liked, when he told them off from kissing Harry and kissed him himself instead, when he forbad them to come in Harry and came in Harry himself instead. It felt as if Draco owned him, as if they belonged together and Harry wasn’t sure if that was healthy, but he wanted it more than anything, especially in the weeks in which he visited Draco and found Hénry at his flat. They didn’t have threesomes with Hénry for the longest time and Harry wasn’t sure why, but he would take it; this was Draco’s and Harry’s exclusive time now when nothing was awkward, when it was easy to be with each other like they used to, when all they needed was another body between them to be close to each other like they used to, and it became Harry’s most goddamn favorite thing.

 

\--

 

Fucking Draco with Hénry on the other hand became his least favorite thing quickly.

 

It wasn’t just that Hénry didn’t respect the boundaries Harry tried to set; it was not that Draco needed to reinforce them every fucking time they did it. It was maybe that Draco didn’t appear to think that that was a big thing, didn’t mind that it happened again and again, when Draco needed to tell Hénry again and again to cut it out, to be more careful or gentle or to go slower.

 

It was that Draco’s attention wasn’t a hundred percent on Harry when Hénry fucked him; he was still possessive and intense but for Hénry too, even if it was always less than for Harry.

 

Harry stopped doing it with them after Hénry slapped him in the face while he fucked him. Draco didn’t react good to that at all, didn’t see Hénry for almost a month. He was so very obviously guilty, felt so very obviously ashamed that he brought Harry in that situation, and Harry couldn’t see him like this; it reminded him too much of the Draco during the trials, of the Draco in their last Hogwarts year. And so he kept saying that he was fine, that he didn’t mind, that he was okay no matter what Draco said, kept saying it until Draco believed him and Harry almost believed himself. That he never allowed Hénry to fuck him again, that their dynamic shifted, and Draco became the one the attention is centered on – something Harry would have fought tooth and nail not too long ago because it felt too much like sharing Draco – that was not something they talked about for a long, long time.

 

\--

 

Thirteen months after Harry’s cursed 27th birthday, many shags with strangers later, not doing anything at all for his 28th, and extracting a promise from a drunk Draco that he will never leave Harry, Draco was attacked by Fenrir Greyback while on his way back from home.

 

Harry arrived at the hospital before Draco was ready to see visitors and he was vibrating out of his skin until Ron arrived, took his hand and held it.

 

Hermione was there two hours later, but Draco was still not out of extensive care. Hermione forced them all to go to the cafeteria to have something to drink and a toast to eat and Harry did so on autopilot.

 

When they came back, Draco had been moved to a private recovery room, but Harry wasn’t allowed to see him at first; only family was. Hermione marched off to verbally spar with the healers and eight minutes later, Harry plopped down on a chair next to Draco because he couldn’t keep standing once he caught sight of him.

 

His face was badly discolored and so was his chest; his chest was under a healing charm or something and Harry watched in morbid fascination how the long tears from Greyback’s claws knitted themselves together slowly. There was a chunk of flesh missing from Draco’s left side where Greyback had bitten him and it was clearly held together by a spell, not yet regenerating like the marks on his chest. Draco’s breathing was labored, not quite steady, a soft hissing sound with every exhale and Harry guessed that his nose must be stuffed. His left foot looked weird and Harry watched the line of potion bottles standing ready at Draco’s bedside, noticed skele-grow and winced in sympathy.

 

Harry drew his chair closer to Draco’s head and leaned his head down and kissed Draco’s ear, careful not to disturb the spell work on his side and chest. He breathed him in for a long moment, noticed that his scent was just a tad different and he wondered idly if that was because of the potions or because Draco had been turned. Ron was positive that he hadn’t, told Harry that the improved formula for Wolfsbane made it possible not to turn after being bitten if the potion was administered within ten hours and that Draco was well within that margin. Draco had been attacked by a partially transformed Greyback in the middle of the street and used as a chewing gum, unable to fight Greyback off after Greyback had snapped his wand and pinned him down underneath him. Draco would be pissed about the wand, Harry knew, because he didn’t like going to Ollivander’s at all but every other wandmaker was subpar in comparison. Draco would be pissed about the humiliation of being pinned underneath Greyback and that Aurors had gotten to see him defenseless. Draco would deny it to everyone but Harry that he was scared of Greyback, always had been since that summer at the Manor when Voldemort resided there. From the stories Draco had told him, Harry could rather understand; having a twisted man like Greyback lusting over you at the age of 16 and 17, someone who was only held back from raping or turning Draco by Greyback’s own fear of Lucius wasn’t probably very nice.

 

Draco turned his head a little, slowly opening his eyes after a moment and Harry looked at him, watched him frown and blink in confusion.

 

“Harry,” he mumbled, and Harry leaned down and whispered that he was here.

 

“What happened?” Draco whispered, and Harry told him, and Draco frowned some more, and Harry straightened up to get him some water.

  
“Don’t leave,” Draco begged, and Harry hurried back.

 

“I won’t,” Harry said, “I’ll stay with you until you can leave again. I’m just getting you some water.”

 

“Please,” Draco said, chest heaving, eyes wide and panicked, “ _please_. Just don’t leave. I’ll stop bothering you, but please don’t leave me now.”

 

“Draco,” Harry whispered, a little mystified, “I wasn’t planning to leave at all.”

 

Draco turned away from him then and heaved in a big breath and then another and another and Harry reached out to lay a hand on his throat, rubbing the skin up to his hair. His neck was sweaty and hot, and Harry hesitated a moment before reaching into his pocket to take out a handkerchief which he quickly transfigured into a hair tie.

 

“Here,” Harry said and leaned over Draco to gather all his fine blond hair in his hands before giving him a messy tiny ponytail high on his head. He looked ridiculous, but Harry guessed that he minded more about being uncomfortable. Draco had cut his hair a week ago, trimmed it noticeably shorter and added a little undercut that Harry loved to touch.

 

“Thanks,” Draco said, and he sounded horrible, aching and raw.

 

“Let me call a healer and ask for some pain potion,” Harry said, but Draco shook his head no.

 

“If they gave me wolfsbane, they can’t use any other potions right now,” he said, sounding tired, “which is why all the others are lined up over there. Only spell work for the wounds for a few hours.”

 

“But you’re in pain,” Harry said, and Draco shrugged his right shoulder and Harry sat back down and leaned over him to watch his face and to kiss his eyelids when Draco closed them again.

 

“I was so worried about you,” Harry said, and Draco’s face scrunched up and then he was crying.

 

“I’m in so much pain,” he said at one point and Harry got the healer then only to hear Draco’s words repeated back at him.

 

“I can’t keep laying down,” Draco said after another half an hour, “my side feels as if it’s being eaten alive. Call them again and asked them to turn me into another position,” and Harry did only to have the healer refuse that, too.

 

“There must be something to help him,” Harry said, angrily, but there wasn’t, and Draco had to keep laying still and Harry switched his chair over to his right side where he could rub Draco’s chest and side, firm, long strokes down his abdomen and back up again while Draco cried and hyperventilated a little and moaned and whimpered. Harry refused Ron and Hermione entry; he knew Draco wouldn’t be okay with anyone seeing him like this, being the prideful person he was. It gave Harry a very dark thrill spark of satisfaction when Draco refused to see Hénry a few hours later, too, curling instead into Harry’s neck as much as he could.

 

“’I’ve got you,” Harry said, because it had felt so good when Draco had said that to him the first time and Draco shuddered, and pressed Harry’s hand and Harry said, _shh, I’m with you_ and _don’t be scared, it’s alright, I’ll keep watch_ and _you’ll be fine, I promise you_.

 

“Har _ry_ , I can’t, I can’t, please make it _stop_ ,” Draco said, and Harry leaned down and stroked his nose through his ear, ghosted his fingers over his cheek and loved him so goddamn much he could have died with it. “Only an hour and a half to go,” he whispered, “then the wolfsbane has done its job and you’ll get as many pain potions as you can handle, ok?”

 

“I’m so hot,” Draco said and Harry _accio’d_ a flannel and wetted it with _aguamenti_ and rubbed him down, got him some more ice chips to suck on. He re-tied his hair and took his blanket away and fanned him with a tissue he had transfigured into a fan that came out with Japanese drawings on it and Harry had no idea how that could be; he had never been to Japan.

 

“Stay?” Draco asked again when his healer finally came to administer the next potions and Harry loosely wrapped his fingers around his unbroken ankle and promised he wouldn’t go anywhere, ever.

 

\--

 

Draco had to stay at HMG for almost a week and he was bored out of his mind after the first day he could spend pain-free.

 

A lot of his former colleagues came by to have a chat and it clearly took some of his tension away, but whenever it was just Harry and Draco, Draco was dibbling around, asking Harry to bring him work from home or from the practice, asking Harry to get him a newspaper, asking Harry to get him a coffee.

 

They were playing a game of exploding snap when Hénry came by the second time. Draco hesitated before allowing him in, looking at Harry warily.

 

“What?” Harry asked, as neutrally as he could.

 

“You’ll stay?” Draco asked, not looking at Harry. Harry had the distinct impression that he didn’t really want to ask, but needed to, couldn’t go on without asking and so Harry said “of course,” for the 20th time since Draco had been hospitalized. It was probably only natural to be a little scared after the attack; Harry refused to worry about it.

 

Hénry took one look at Draco’s upper body and winced, saying something in French that was full of pet names. Draco answered quickly and then went back to their game, answering Hénry’s other questions with a very casual air while he focused on exploding snap.

 

Hénry’s tone soon turned petulant and Draco’s turned snappish and Harry didn’t say anything until Hénry had left.

 

“Are the two of you fighting?” he asked, and Draco shrugged his shoulders and played with a loose thread in his blanket.

 

“I just don’t want to talk about any of this with him. Greyback, my history with him, how I’m feeling and blah blah,” Draco said, and Harry nodded and pretended to understand even though he didn’t. Draco had been adamant that Hénry was a part of his life now, a bigger part than the other guys he had fucked in the last months, and Harry had accepted that, made his peace with it. He had considered going back to London permanently, not switching between their flats as often as he did to make a clean break, to stop seeing Draco as anything but a friend, but he hadn’t yet managed to go through with it. Draco gave him a lot of mixed signals, too, wanting to spend a lot of time with Harry only to withdraw the next day, being cuddly and affectionate only to become tight-lipped and closed-off after.

 

Harry was worried.

 

“And blah blah?” he said, teasing slightly and Draco rolled his eyes at him, but he was grinning a little bit.

 

Draco always did that for Harry, making heavy situations lighter. Harry wasn’t as good at it, but he tried.

 

“You’ve been a little…unstable in the last months,” Harry said, very carefully and Draco took in a deep breath, and then another, and when he looked back up his eyes were swimming in tears.

 

“You’re the most important person in my life,” Draco whispered, and Harry leaned closer at the raw pain in his voice.

 

“You’re mine too,” Harry said, at a complete loss and Draco closed his eyes to not let the tears fall and breathed in deeply.

 

“Then let us please try to find a way to make this work as friends,” Draco said, and his voice broke then, and Harry reached out to take his hand.

 

“It’s not working now?” he said, unsure and lost. Something hadn’t been right for months, and Harry just didn’t understand.

 

Draco laughed, a tiny strained thing of a laugh. “No, it is. You have no idea how thankful I am that you don’t let me go through this by myself Harry.”

  
“I’m not leaving,” Harry said roughly, “I’m only leaving if you ask me to, but not – not as long as you want me.”

 

“I’ll always want you,” Draco whispered, so very softly, “sorry.”

 

“Come here,” Harry said, and rearranged them until Draco was resting comfortably on his chest. “Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

 

“Thanks,” Draco said, and snuggled closer and what did it matter if Harry didn’t understand a thing; he had always known that he was a bit slow on the uptake. He would figure it out. It was alright as long as Draco was warm and safe in his arms.

 

\--

 

After Draco was released, Harry took him to London to get a new wand and to see Blaise, Pansy, Hermione and Ron. Harry had already contacted Ollivander about Draco’s wand and sent him the pieces of it, hoping that Ollivander would be able to restore it.

 

They didn’t talk about it, but Draco was jumpy, constantly touching Harry’s hand or gripping his sleeve. Harry didn’t mention it, because he knew that that would make Draco stop and he didn’t want to forsake him the comfort. Harry didn’t want to forsake him anything at all, right now.

 

“You have your wand, right?” Draco kept asking while they were waiting in line to use the international floo. Draco was jittery next to him, kept turning around to eye the queue, kept pressing his body against Harry’s and Harry hated to see him like this.

 

Harry wrapped his arm around his waist after a moment. “I’ve got my wand,” he said and tried to sound as normal as possible. “I’ve got my wand and our bags and you, okay?”

 

Draco deflated next to him, turning into Harry’s body. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and Harry hugged him closer. “What do you always say about saying sorry?” he asked, and Draco laughed a tiny, little huff of a sound.

 

Draco was already in Blaise’s arms when Harry stepped – ok, fell – out of the floo. He preened under the attention of Blaise and Pansy, showed them the scars, but Harry knew that it was a farce, that Draco hated how they looked and that they still ached.

 

They went for dinner at their favorite pub and it was a nice enough evening, even though Hermione opted out of coming with them in the end. She was in her second trimester and not doing well at all, needed to spend more and more time at St. Mungo’s.

 

Draco had hung back when they slid into the booth, waiting to see on which side Harry ended up and Harry had given him a gentle push to join Blaise before sitting next to him. Ron, always keen on safe sitting arrangements himself had probably noted but Pansy and Blaise hadn’t, chatting animatedly about some Italian friends of them.

 

They ordered and had a few beers and Blaise teased Draco and Ron and Harry discussed Charlie’s newest boyfriend and Percy’s new obsession with journaling and Pansy smacked Blaise over the head when he told some story of her in fourth grade and a Slytherin boy one grade ahead.

 

It was nice, it was friendly, it was a good time – but Draco was a mess of nerves next to Harry.

 

He knew Ron or Pansy didn’t notice; he also knew that Blaise had noticed but didn’t seem particularly concerned about it.

 

Harry, on the other hand, very much was.

 

He kept their bodies as much in contact as he could without climbing on top of Draco, but tried to ignore it otherwise, knowing that Draco wouldn’t take kindly to talking about it. He made sure to not leave to get another round, asking Ron to go for him. He made sure to tease Draco from time to time, like they always did, hoping that it would help.

 

Draco said he needed the loo after they had finished the third round of beers and Blaise joined him, prompting Pansy to roll her eyes and muttering something about unhealthy attachment issues.

 

Blaise came back ten minutes later, looking uncomfortable. “Harry, could you –“ he started to say, but Harry was already moving.

 

Draco was sitting on the closed toilet lid in the last stall, shaking so badly that he couldn’t stay upright.

 

“Hey,” Harry said and tried to lean down to him, but Draco struggled up, grabbing for Harry and collapsing against him. For a moment, he just kept shaking and then he heaved in a breath and another and then he was crying. Harry got a hand on his wand and slapped a privacy screen around them, before tugging him closer.

 

He had never seen Draco cry like this, big, heaving sobs that made his whole body shake, hyperventilating and whimpering in between bouts of tears. Draco had cried before and Harry had seen it, but it was always contained, or he didn’t let the tears fall at all. He had never seen Draco a sobbing, shaking mess, not even back in the hospital and his heart felt as if it was breaking in two.

 

“Draco, it’s okay,” Harry said after a while, petting Draco’s hair carefully, “you’re safe.”

 

“I – I’m – I can’t –“ Draco stammered and curled even more into Harry.

 

Harry pressed a kiss to his brow. “Shh,” he repeated, “it’s alright. Just let it out.”

 

And Draco did; he cried for so long that he made himself throw up, with Harry supporting his head and wiping his mouth for him. “Can I take you home?” Harry asked when Draco started to calm down, only occasionally hiccupping against Harry’s shoulder. “Please,” he said, and Harry gripped him harder and dissolved the privacy screen. As expected, Blaise was leaning against the row of sinks, waiting for them.

 

“I’m taking Draco home,” Harry said, and Blaise nodded, looking worried. “You alright there, Draco?” he asked, and Draco sniffled again and said in a very small voice “no”. Harry and Blaise shared a look.

 

“I’ll call you,” Harry said, and tightened his hold on Draco.

 

Back at Grimmauld, he lent his wand to Draco, and watched him perform a number of freshening charms on himself. Harry would always be bad at them.

 

“Can I lay down?” Draco asked, and Harry took him upstairs, wrapped him into the blankets in bed and simply waited him out.

 

“I think I might need therapy,” Draco said after a while and Harry mirrored his fetal position to look at him. “Maybe that’s a good idea,” he whispered and watched in sorrow when another few tears slipped down Draco’s nose.

 

“I’ve already talked with someone after the war and I talked a lot about Greyback. It’s just – being so helpless again and having someone violate my body, it – it brings it all back, Harry,” Draco said.

 

“I’m sure it does,” Harry said quietly, “I’m sure it’s been a horrible experience. You need time to recover from it. Nobody expects you to just bounce back.”

 

“I know but it’s hard,” Draco said, “I mean I wouldn’t expect it from a patient, so I know I can’t expect it from myself, but I still do, I think.”

 

“It’s harder when it’s happening to yourself,” Harry whispered, “to know how to react. To seek help if you need it. But you know that I’ll do whatever you need to help you, and Blaise and Pansy and Ron and Hermione, they’ll do it too.”

 

“I know,” Draco said, “I know that. I’m just – you know how I am about accepting help.”

 

“You’re doing just fine right now,” Harry said, and Draco let out a big whoosh of breath, robbing closer until he could curl against Harry.

 

“I very much need you to take me to Ollivander tomorrow and not leave me alone,” he said, and Harry nodded, rubbing his back. “Of course,” he whispered, and Draco sighed, body slowly relaxing and eventually, they both fell asleep.

 

\--

 

“Happy birthday,” Harry said in the morning when Draco had made his way down to the kitchen. He placed the long thin wooden box in front of him and watched in amusement when Draco looked up at him confused.

 

“We don’t do presents,” he said, “and my birthday was months ago,” and Harry shrugged his shoulder.

 

“You can give it back, if you want,” he teased and watched Draco open the box and freeze.

 

He had called Ron early in the morning and asked him to pick up the wand from Ollivander, who had written him that restoration had been successful. Harry originally wanted to take Draco there to test the wand and have Ollivander make adjustments if necessary, but after the evening in the pub, he thought it best to skip that little outing and only go to the shop if there was a reason to do so.

 

“Harry,” Draco said, sounding touched and close to tears and suffocating, “how did you manage to do that?”

 

“If you want particulars, you’ll need to ask Ollivander,” Harry answered and watched him take his Hawthorn wand in hand, doing a few quick cleaning charms to test it.

 

“It’s perfect,” Draco said, very watery, “I – thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, and pushed a plate with a full English breakfast towards him, watching Draco watch the plate as if it was a personal attack.

 

“What?” he asked, slightly amused and Draco looked up at him, eyes bright and confused.

 

“Nothing,” he said after a moment and waited to take a bite of food until Harry had grabbed his own plate and fork and knife. “That’s really good, Harry.”

 

“Only the best for you, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” Harry joked, and Draco laughed, but it sounded strained.

 

They spent much of the rest of the day lounging in bed, making out a little. Harry licked across Draco’s new scars and watched his pupils dilate in response before nuzzling up Draco’s neck, grinding their dicks together.

 

They didn’t fuck, simply touched. Harry loved these days the most, when he got to touch and touch, when Draco allowed him to run his hands all over him. Draco had once pointed out that Harry had been touch-starved as a child; Harry had never asked but he kind of thought that Draco had been too, the way he shivered and curled closer and breathed Harry in and seemed to forsake himself touching Harry back from time to time.

 

Draco never believed that he got to get what he really needed.

 

\--

After that, things changed again.

 

Draco came to London more often; Draco saw less of Hénry. Hénry wasn’t around when Harry was around and if he was, Draco usually asked him to leave pretty quickly after Harry arrived. They stopped clubbing, they stopped having sex with other men. They would sit like they used to and drink tea and read and work on a Saturday night.

 

On one of these nights, Draco closed his book with a thump, looked at Harry and leaned over to kiss him.

 

The sex that night, back in the bed where it had gone wrong months ago, was the most tender sex Harry ever had. It was raining outside, and Draco had only lighted a few candles and he moved so slowly, eyes so intent on Harry’s face that Harry almost wanted to hide from him when he came apart. Draco kissed him through it.

 

“Sorry,” Draco said afterwards, and Harry had an inkling what he said sorry for.

 

Harry was much preoccupied back then with his forest and Hermione’s difficult pregnancy and all the stress Draco was still under after the Greyback attack. He was much preoccupied with Greyback somehow breaking out of holdings in France, with Ron assisting to catch him, with Lucius throwing an absolute fit that had Draco in tears when Draco refused to move back in with his father until Greyback was behind bars again. They eventually found him three months later and he was sent to Azkaban and died there shortly after, but those weeks were hard; Draco didn’t admit it but he was too scared to do much without Harry or Ron despite the Auror protection he was given and Harry spent too much time in Paris and too little with Hermione and his forest. He threw up a few times in the morning not knowing why but then it stopped, and he didn’t mention it again. He had some back cramps and some stomach cramps that Draco rubbed at; Draco told him to stop doing so much physical labor without doing regenerative exercises and Harry promised to take better care.

 

When Rose was born they all took a week off to help Ron finally frantically finishing the nursery while Hermione and the baby were still at the hospital. Harry held Rose and couldn’t help but feel a little wistful; Draco was watching him like a hawk and said nothing.

 

It was all back to normal; they had fun with each other, they told each other their secrets, they made out and they worked with each other and they would sit and do nothing but talk from time to time.

 

The only thing they had stopped talking about completely was how they felt for each other and that didn’t change until Harry woke up in labor some nine months later.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. 
> 
> I found out that I don't like writing epilogues and I am still not sure that this is how I want the story to end. I had a million possibilities in my head and decided to stick with this story arch. I hope you like it. 
> 
> Warnings: some (graphic) description of rape (by women). Grief. Eventually we all die; that's part of what this epilogue is about, therefore warnings for character deaths. I adjusted the archive warnings. If you need more information before reading, contact me here or here: https://foxincrepuscularlight.tumblr.com/

“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” Draco says. He’s on his hunches in front of Harry; they don’t touch.

 

It’s 15 years after the Battle.

 

Harry didn’t go to the ten-year anniversary. There was no real reason for it; he just didn’t feel as if he could do it. His relationship with Draco was still so unstable. Even if it hadn’t been, Draco cannot really go to these anniversaries, nor does he want to, but Harry still felt as if he couldn’t do it without him.

 

He agreed to coming to this anniversary, because – McGonagall asked. Hermione thought it was a good idea. He wanted to show Olie Hogwarts.

 

He isn’t sure what he thought.

 

Draco didn’t say much about it. He wasn’t eager to come with Harry and Olie today at all, but Harry woke up and had his first panic attack in – he’s not even sure, five years – and Draco ended up taking him to Hogsmeade with the firm intention of leaving once Ron and Hermione met up with them to go up to the castle. It’s just their kind of luck to run into a big group from Derbyshire in front of the post office all arriving with a portkey at once who immediately jumped on them.

 

They are in a backroom of the Hog’s Head now and Draco just finished holding a paper bag to Harry’s face for 15 minutes.

 

“I don’t know why I’m reacting like this,” Harry says. His freaking shirt is completely ruined; he used the sleeve about a hundred times now to wipe his face in lieu of a tissue. Draco has his suit jacket because Harry is sweating like a goddamn ape.

 

“It’s okay to react like that,” Draco says, “it’s okay to not be able to do it. I don’t think either of us was prepared for the amount of people here today. I don’t think either of us was prepared to hear that Olie is an abomination first thing.”

 

“Don’t repeat it please,” Harry says and then needs to catch his breath again.

 

He’s so thankful for Ron showing up the moment he did, effortlessly parting the masses of people around him and Draco. Olie was already screaming in panic against Draco’s neck when a man pushed at Harry, asked him how he could have married a fucking Death Eater, how he could make a freak child with him, how he could bring him here today.

 

Draco doesn’t say it, but Harry is pretty sure that he knows that the word freak still sets Harry off pretty badly.

 

Ron towered over them, calmly reached out for Olie, calmly blocked Draco from the growing crowd. He was saying things that Harry didn’t really hear and then Draco’s arm was around his waist, and they pushed through and now they are here.

 

Ron is out in the taproom entertaining Olie and they can hear his tiny voice drift over to them. He’s pretty articulate for his age, no doubt because of Lucius’ way of speaking.

 

At almost four, there’s nothing Olie adores as much as his grandpa.

 

“I’m not sure I can do it,” Harry says. Draco intercepts his hand from rubbing his eyes yet again, pushes Harry’s hair out of his face instead.

 

“Then you don’t, and I take you home,” Draco answers.

 

“I feel as if I’m failing people if I leave,” Harry admits, and Draco’s face does this thing where he remains completely impassive which usually means he thinks you are talking bullshit.

 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Draco says very quietly. Harry would like him to say something else, something more helpful but he knows he won’t get it, that Draco wants him to make up his own mind.

 

“I’m not comfortable having Olie here,” he says, and Draco nods.

 

“Me neither,” he says, “I would ask Ron to – escort us until I can apparate and take him with me.”

 

“Fuck,” Harry says and pushes up. He’s dizzy for just a moment, and Draco grips his biceps, steadies him.

 

“If you need a reason to leave, being six months pregnant should do the trick,” he says. Harry ignores it; they’re not exactly on the same page regarding the pregnancy and Harry’s health.

 

Because this is Harry’s life, it’s not Draco who carries now. They tried. It didn’t work.

 

They don’t talk about the miscarriage.

 

That’s not to say that this baby was planned, and it’s been a point of friction; Draco doesn’t forgive himself for not double-checking any of Harry’s contraceptive charms and Harry cannot really forgive him for not wanting the baby.

 

“Do you think I want another child if it leaves you crippled or worse?” Draco shouted at one point. That was two months ago, and they have stopped talking about it since then.

 

That they don’t talk about it doesn’t mean they’re not fighting about it.

 

“At least, we know it’s coming this time,” Draco had said darkly the day they had found out and Harry still remembers that, the foul mood Draco was in. He’s tried to reign it in, tried to not impose rest and quietness on Harry too much but they are both getting a little run-down with all the difficulties Harry has had so far, the many times he has been in hospital already.

 

“My bump is barely visible,” Harry says, “you know, I just want to point out again that it’s not surprising that I didn’t know about male pregnancies if the bumps don’t really grow until a week before birth.”

 

“Hm,” Draco says, eyes on Harry’s stomach. There’s really not much to see, just a little lump of flesh that’s normally not there. Apart from Draco nobody else knows that Harry’s nipples have already started to grow again too; that’s not something to see through a shirt either.

 

“It can be up to three weeks,” Draco says almost absentmindedly. He reaches out a hand to rub over Harry’s stomach and Harry leans into the touch. “What?” he asks and Draco blinks at him, steps back and takes his hand away.

 

The risk is high, and they haven’t told anyone except for Lucius, Ron and Hermione.

 

“The bump,” Draco says, “it can be anything from three to one weeks till birth when it starts growing.”

 

“Okay,” Harry says, “what are we even talking about?”

 

Draco shrugs. In the taproom, Olie calls Ron a dunderhead and screams in delight when Ron without doubt lets him soar high in the sky for it, catching him safely.

 

“I can’t stay Harry,” Draco says. Harry knows it boils down to that. But. Still. He knows Draco can’t, but it can still make him sad that he can’t.

 

Ron looks at them calmly when they come out of their backroom. He’s got Olie dangling in the curve of one arm. Olie stretches all limbs and says “Daddies” in that pleased way of his before struggling to be let down. He wanders over to Draco, arms outstretched, and Draco lifts him easily.

 

Olie doesn’t yet believe in the freedom that comes with walking yourself; seeing things from a high position while being carried around is much more his style.

 

Draco doesn’t usually indulge him as much as Harry does, but the past months haven’t been easy for anyone.

 

“Can you take Olie and me somewhere where I can apparate?” Draco asks and Ron nods, regarding Harry for a moment while they all go out.

 

“Hermione is waiting for you,” he tells Harry calmly, “at the main entrance. She said she would stand far away off to see you before the crowds.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry says and looks at the way to the castle.

 

He loves it usually. Maybe not today.

 

“Is it risky for him?” Draco says, “after they’ve seen me?”

 

Harry can’t help the annoyed roll of his eyes or the little tsking sound he makes. He feels sorry pretty much immediately when he sees Draco’s lips thin, when he looks away from Harry for a moment.

 

Nothing is right between them right now and Harry’s fuse is as short as it was the summer after Sirius died.

 

“Guys,” Ron says. The chiding isn’t as gently anymore as it was five months ago.

 

“Well, if Harry doesn’t care,” Draco drawls, clearly upset now, “then Harry can probably deal with it. Excuse me for asking. Shall we go?”

 

“Yes,” Ron says firmly before Harry can retort and starts walking. They split up soon enough; before turning away, Draco stops and looks at Harry.

 

“Take care please,” he says and looks at Harry who steps closer and gives Olie a kiss. “Sure,” Harry says with false cheer because Olie is getting distraught by the tense atmosphere around them and Harry doesn’t want him to know at all that not everything is rosy right now. He’s too small to understand what they are fighting about. Draco shifts Olie to one arm and reaches out, trails his hand over Harry’s bump again. “I mean it, Harry,” he says and Harry nods.

 

“I love you,” Draco says very quietly. For a moment their eyes lock and then Harry says “sure” again and turns away. He doesn’t feel like saying it in that moment; knows that Draco says it because for him it points out that there’s something bigger than their fight but for Harry it feels like an obligation to confirm a sentiment he doesn’t want to give right now.

 

He regrets that.

 

\--

 

He gets another panic attack just before the speeches start but that one is minor; one sip of the calming draught Draco insisted he take with him, and he can sit through them.

 

He would love to get pissed with everyone else afterwards but not even male pregnancies allow for it and so he sticks with water and juice.

 

The night draws on longer than he thought anyway and it’s past four in the morning when he stumbles towards Hogsmeade to apparate with Hermione and Ron.

 

“Is it weird to say that that was fun?” Hermione asks, “seeing everyone again? I’ve had a great time.”

 

“It’s weird alright,” Ron says grandly. Harry’s very jealous of the whisky he drank earlier. “But it’s also okay because I feel the same way. Harry?”

 

“Same,” Harry says and it’s true; he hasn’t caught up with a lot of people in recent years and it was good to see those he usually doesn’t see as often, people from Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.

 

Grimmauld is dark when he opens the front door. Draco usually leaves some lamps on for Harry when he’s out late, but Harry isn’t really surprised that he didn’t do so today. 

 

Harry goes up, checks on Olie quickly. Their child is sleeping peacefully, and Harry enters the ensuite from the hallway; he has half a mind to enter through the bedroom, but Draco is a light sleeper and he has taken care of every single Olie-shaped nighttime disturbance since Harry’s pregnancy and Harry can’t quite bring himself to do it.

 

He showers quickly, brushes his teeth, rubs his stomach with the lotion that is supposed to help stretch his skin in about three months.

 

Draco is turned away from him when he enters.

 

Harry slips into bed without leaning over, without kissing him, knowing fully well that Draco is awake.

 

He falls asleep first.

 

\--

 

There’s a fucking blasted picture of Draco touching Harry’s stomach in Hogsmeade in the Prophet the next morning with just the right kind of headline to make their life hell.  

 

“Oh, come on,” Harry says, annoyed as hell. He briefly considers hiding the paper, but Draco already strides in.

 

He cut his hair short again half a year ago and his suits fit perfectly, and Harry can appreciate how he looks in the mornings.

 

“Don’t get a fit,” he warns but it’s already too late; Draco has seen the paper and all color drains from his face. “Fuck,” he says softly and then louder “fuck!” and then he’s screaming “FUCK” and Olie says, “that’s a boring word Daddy! Grandpa says to only swear if you are the bestest at it.”

 

“You really need to spend less time with Grandpa,” Harry says. Draco ignores them both, leaves the kitchen with the paper still in hand. The floo flares to life a moment later and then he’s gone.

 

Well, Harry thinks and proceeds with feeding their child and getting Olie ready for the professional daycare Lucius hosts at the Manor. It’s some sort of integrative muggle-born-wizarding family thing with a Witch and a Muggle nanny taking care of the kids and Harry loves Lucius for giving the funds and the space to have it, because he could not have trusted any of the three only other daycare options the British Wizarding World has. That the kids enjoy Manor security, that Lucius is close-by in case something is wrong, that Olie can spend time with his grandpa after daycare ends at 3 p.m., those are all big pluses. Hugo and Rose go there too, even though Rose will soon have to transfer out and Hermione is already crying about it because the few options for Wizarding primary school are not appealing at all either.

 

In retrospect, banning house-elf ownership and forbidding the bounding of house-elf magic to the Wizard or Witch they were serving wasn’t the smartest move, considering that house-elves can now not be trusted with childcare the way they once were and most of them prefer to do business that has little to do with housekeeping to start with. Wizarding society hasn’t adapted well with no options for child-care or parental leave or shift work apart from the healing services.

 

Harry only starts to worry once he comes back from seeing Olie off and Draco is still not back; it seems a little over the top to storm off without his coat, or his patients notes, without even saying goodbye even though he has an 18-hour shift today.

 

He sends him a text that Draco reads but doesn’t answer. Harry will not get annoyed over it, he decides and goes to review the notes he made on cutting the bark of birches to gain their juice during a full moon.

 

The floo flares up at around two.

 

Draco looks absolutely awful.

 

“What happened?” Harry tries to say but Draco is already moving forward, engulfing him in a hug and then he takes a deep breath and then he starts to shake.

 

“I can’t do it,” he says, in a horrible, awful voice, “I’m so scared you’re not going to make it, I can’t have them discuss your pregnancy, I am so fucking scared of losing you, I cannot –“

 

“Draco,” Harry tries to interrupt but Draco doesn’t let him. “You can’t die on me,” he says, “you cannot, I cannot handle it, I couldn’t take care of Oliver, I couldn’t –“

 

“I’m not going to die on you,” Harry says and Draco laughs, a horrible jarred sound and then he burrows his face in Harry’s hair and doesn’t say a word, just continues to shake.

 

“Draco,” Harry says after some time.

 

“I wish you had aborted it,” Draco says, all in a rush, “the risk is just too big. I wish it wasn’t in you.”

 

“It’s our _child,”_ Harry says icily and pushes him away. They stare at each other.

 

“I can’t love it if it kills you,” Draco says and collects his stuff and leaves for work.

 

\--

 

Harry wants to be angry with him and he is, for a few hours before his anger slowly vaporizes like dew under the sun.

 

He cannot be angry with Draco for being so scared. Harry knows he hasn’t given his health the attention it deserves, mostly because he wanted the baby more than anything. Mostly because these things tend to go well for Harry; he’s in desperate danger and then he makes it out alive.

 

Harry has no real idea why his risk is so high. It’s all centered around birth somehow and he regrets not listening more.

 

He thinks about calling Hermione who without doubt will know all about it but decides against it. This is a talk he needs to have with Draco, no one else.

 

He asks Lucius to take Olie for a few days. Lucius says of course in the voice of a man who knows exactly that something is wrong, and Harry hopes briefly that Draco hasn’t discussed any of this with him; he and Lucius understand each other better than they did but there will always be a gap too wide to fully bridge between them.

 

Draco comes home early the next morning. He walks a bit stiffly and Harry feels for him; he probably hasn’t slept at this point for over 30 hours.

 

“Hey,” he says softly when Draco hangs up his coat, packs away his briefcase. He steps close and wraps his arms around Draco from behind, nuzzles against his nape and kisses him, breaths him in.

 

Draco holds himself stiffly and Harry sighs, urges him to turn around.

 

“We need to talk,” he says quietly. A muscle in Draco’s jaw ticks; he doesn’t look at Harry when he nods his head.

 

“It has to wait though,” he says. His voice is a little raspy, a little hoarse and Harry has the sudden and very uncomfortable feeling that sometime in the last 12 hours, Draco went somewhere and cried in secret. “I’m so bloody tired I couldn’t stay awake if my bed was on fire.”

 

“Go lay down then,” Harry says, and Draco nods and goes up. When Harry checks in on him a few hours later, he’s barely made it to bed, one foot still hanging off. He’s still in his shirt and slacks, still with his belt and socks and Harry tuts at him, goes over to take the socks and the belt off at least, opens Draco’s trousers to get him more comfortable.

 

Draco barely reacts, and so Harry sits down for a moment, soothes a hand over his back, looks at him for a while.

 

He truly is the most beautiful man Harry knows and he barely gets to see him like this, relaxed and deep in sleep. Harry can admit that Lucius is very good-looking too, but Draco’s complexion is a bit better, his eyes are brighter and kinder, his hips narrower. He’s a sight since he has grown into his features, since he started exercising.

 

Harry wants him suddenly; they haven’t had a lot of sex in the last months, because Harry was tired or uncomfortable or simply not interested. His libido is always less active than Draco’s, his sex drive more easily satisfied by doing it once a week, top, but they haven’t even done that. Sexual intimacy is important to Draco and Harry hurts at the thought of not giving him enough of that on top of everything else.

 

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises Draco’s sleeping form and goes back downstairs.

 

Draco appears disheveled and still tired in the late afternoon. “Sure you have slept enough?” Harry asks when he thumps his head on top of their dining table in the kitchen and moans. “No,” Draco whines, “but if I don’t get up now and go to bed later I will forever be awake in the night, like a vampire and never see you or Olie again ever.”

 

“Sure,” Harry says and tries to hide the amusement. Dramatic Draco doesn’t appear very often nowadays but when he does, Harry can admit to liking him rather an awful lot.

 

Strange, how these things changed, how for some time at Hogwarts Harry hated nothing more than this side of Draco.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry says, “and I realized I don’t really understand the risk. Can you explain it to me again?”

 

Draco is silent for a long moment, studying Harry’s face. “You said you made an informed decision about keeping the baby,” he says. His voice is very bland.

 

Harry, unfortunately, remembers saying that too. Shit.

 

“I – well,” he says, and watches Draco’s face transform itself in fury for a second before he pushes it down, before he gets up.

 

“Is all of this a joke to you?” he says and walks out of the kitchen. Harry follows him.

 

“You know it’s not,” he says, “of course, it’s not. But I really wanted the baby, Draco and –“

 

Draco whips around so fast Harry almost collides with him.

 

“We could have adopted,” he says, deadly quiet, “we could have easily given a child a home that has none, or two or even three if you wanted. Why are you so fucking obsessed with biological children?”  
  
“I didn’t even know you considered adoption,” Harry says, and Draco huffs and stalks away from him. “Can we please talk about this without you running away?” Harry begs, and Draco stops still, breathing heavily.

 

“Once your bump starts to extent,” he says, “which it will inevitably do, it will aggravate all injuries from your previous birth which you might remember as being quite expansive. You can under no circumstances give birth naturally this time because it – would rip you in a way that would make it impossible for you to live a normal life afterwards. Which means the baby will be extracted in a magical surgery which is not bad per se, but in your case it fucking is, because your magical core has never fully recovered and the amount of magic it will take you to repair your body afterwards combined with the magical residual of the surgery might very well overwhelm it, resulting in a pretty rare condition called magical poisoning and that is just as fun as it sounds.”

 

“And if I get that then what?” Harry asks, and Draco looks away from him, looks down at his bare feet. “Then you’ll die,” he says, “nobody has ever survived it. Not immediately but after a few months of horrible pain you’ll be dead.”

 

“And the risk of that is how high?” Harry asks and studies him, the slope of his bent neck, the way the afternoon sun illuminates his hair.

 

“Your magic has been drained before,” Draco says, “and it reacts differently than those of others due to – the horcrux. It’s an above average risk.”

 

“What does that mean Draco?” Harry asks very quietly.

 

Draco swallows compulsively. “I think about 55 to 60 percent,” he says, “you really didn’t think about this before? Harry, how could you?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, “I really – want the baby. What are the baby’s risks?”

 

“The baby will be fine,” Draco says, “it’s not the fucking baby we need to be worried about.”

 

“Stop talking about our child like that,” Harry says, immediately furious again. It pushes so many of his buttons to hear Draco talk about their child as if it’s – some sort of obligation, some sort of thing. He can start saying freak, the way he is talking about their kid.

 

“Sure,” Draco says, “I’ll just explain to Olie that the fucking baby has nothing to do with him losing his Dad. The baby just happens to be there suddenly, and his Dad is not. No problem at all.”

 

“I don’t recognize you,” Harry says, “how can you talk like that about our –“

 

“I hate that child,” Draco says in a horrible voice, “and I don’t recognize you either. How can you care so little about what happens to me and Olie if that baby kills you? You’re already only interested in it, it’s been weeks since you did anything at all with Olie, you barely touch me and –“

 

“So this is about sex,” Harry says and he doesn’t recognize his own voice, “it’s always about sex with you. Just force me then, why don’t you. It’s not like that would be a new thing for you.”

 

“I – what?” Draco says completely flabbergasted. “Oh you heard me alright,” Harry says, “just find Hénry and allow him to fuck me to –“

 

“What?” Draco shrieks and Harry stops, looks at him. It’s true – he doesn’t recognize Draco. But right now, he also doesn’t recognize himself.

 

“You never wanted to – with Hénry you never –“ Draco says and then he stumbles and leans against the wall of the hallway.

 

“As if you didn’t know,” Harry says, “you know everything all the time.”

 

“What about the others?” Draco asks, and Harry shakes his head at him. “I’m not talking about it,” he says viciously.

 

“What about the day after – after your Aunt’s burial?” Draco asks in the smallest voice Harry has ever heard and they stare at each other until Draco’s face shuts down. He gets away from the wall, walks towards the stairs. Harry hears him pacing around upstairs and goes back to the kitchen.

 

This didn’t go like he wanted it to go.

 

Draco comes back down ten minutes later, with a packed duffle bag. He looks at Harry just once, then his gaze skidders away as if he can’t force himself to look at him.

 

“I think we need some space,” he tells the air above Harry’s left shoulder. “I’ll be – at my father’s I guess. For a while.”  


“Sure,” Harry says, “running away and hiding are some top-notch Malfoy qualities. I am sure he can commiserate.”

 

Draco closes his eyes hearing that and Harry wants to take it back, all of it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

“I don’t understand why you are so angry with me,” Draco says and then turns around and moves towards the floo. Harry follows him, in a complete rage now.

 

“Just call our child a freak, why don’t you,” he screams, “just admit that you can’t handle it – being a Dad, being with me, not being the one carrying. You didn’t care about the baby you lost either, you are –“ 

 

Draco uses the floo before he can finish.

 

Harry breaths heavily; his stomach heaves and aches.

 

Grimmauld feels just as it felt after Sirius.

 

\--

 

Ron’s hand is heavy on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“That sounds like an awful fight, mate,” he says quietly and Harry nods, head in his hands.

 

It’s been five fucking days and Draco refuses to speak to him. Olie was here yesterday and stayed for the night and chattered away endlessly and Harry realized all at once that it was true; Harry hasn’t spent a lot of time with him at all, because Olie’s good cheer has gotten on his nerves like nothing. The pregnancy is hard.

 

“What do I do Ron?” he asks, because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

 

Ron sighs and gets up to make them another tea.

 

“I love you both,” he says, “I don’t like getting caught in the middle. I think both of you need to accept that you said horrible things to each other, things to hurt and you need to sincerely apologize and move beyond that. You need to completely forgive each other what you said. It can’t fester.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry says, can’t say anything else.

 

“And then you need to address the underlying issues,” Ron says, “and –“

 

“No,” Harry interrupts, “he’s sure I am going to die. How the fuck am I going to address this? It’s another three months before we know if I’ll be fine or not and –“

 

“And you don’t want to talk to him for three months?” Ron asks, softly incredulous. “You don’t think it’s worth the effort in case you don’t make it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry says and feels like crying. He hasn’t cried, not yet.

 

It’s been sinking in very slowly. 60 percent chance of leaving Draco alone. Of not getting to see Olie grow up. Of never – seeing the baby in his stomach take its first steps.

 

It all turns to ash before his eyes and he has no idea what to do.

 

He’s been blind; the baby in his belly somehow felt like Olie and he would die for Olie but he cannot – compare an already living child to one not yet born. He should have listened. Draco tried again and again to talk to him when there was still time to abort it and Harry didn’t even want to entertain the possibility. He didn’t even want to comprehend. 

 

A good Dad protects his children, he thought, and he didn’t – think of what he asked of Draco to do.

 

He forced this on him.

 

Ron rubs his shoulders while he dry-heaves.

 

\--

 

Draco is pale when Harry visits a few days later. Lucius takes one look at them and takes Olie outside.

 

“I can’t make it right again,” Harry says. Draco sits down.

 

“I can, and I must apologize for the things I did say to you,” Harry continues, “but we cannot – we have to wait now and see what happens and that is – not what I usually do.”

 

“We could induce you early,” Draco says very quietly, “it’s small enough to do minimum damage to you right now. We could keep you stable, have a minimum of magical interference. You will probably have magical drain again but. That would be it.”

 

Harry has to blink away tears.

 

“It’s my baby, Draco,” he says as neutrally as he can. “It’s not – I don’t think of the baby as _it_. I can feel it moving already. I just – it feels like killing Olie.”

 

Draco closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again, they are swimming in tears.

 

“I can’t lose you,” he says, and Harry opens his arms and a moment later they are clutching each other. “I understand, Harry, I do, but – it’s – I can’t –“

 

“Shh,” Harry says, “I’m right here now Draco. And I will fight so much to stay right here.”

 

“I was so sad when I lost the baby,” Draco heaves out, “how could you say I didn’t care? I tried to keep it together for Olie but I was so so so so sad –“

 

“I know, shh, I know,” Harry whispers, “I was trying to say hurtful things. I know how sad you were. I know, darling, I know.”

 

“I thought I was a Potter now,” Draco gasps, “not a Malfoy anymore, I thought I –“

 

“God, you are,” Harry interrupts and hugs him even closer, draws him as much as he can into the curve of his own body, “you are, you are. You so much are.”

 

“Harry,” Draco says and burrows against him and they are both crying.

 

Harry’s heart feels a little less heavy afterwards.

 

“I know how much I am asking,” Harry says very quietly, Draco’s face in his hands, “I know I should have seriously considered abortion. I am so very sorry for not listening to my healer and for ignoring the risk. But I cannot – end it now. I just can’t. I love that baby. I will try not to ask you to love it too at this point but I – can’t stop, Draco.”

 

Draco nods. “I’ll try harder,” he says.

 

\--

 

Harry has to stay at St. Mungo’s for the whole last eight weeks of his pregnancy, and Draco pretty much moves into his hospital room.

 

Lucius comes by with Olie pretty much every day, too, and it’s funny, isn’t it, that Harry would somehow live a life after the Battle in which he cannot imagine not having Lucius’ help.

 

It’s a Saturday. Harry is 35 weeks along. Draco took Olie to the canteen and to look at the aquarium in the entrance hall and Lucius sits down on Harry’s bed and places his hand on the bump.

 

They don’t normally touch. Draco and Lucius are in therapy together by now; Harry knows they are working on touching each other more. He holds still and looks at Lucius.

 

“I love Oliver,” Lucius says, “and I love my son. You gave me both of them so I – won’t use the l-word because I know it will make both of us extremely uncomfortable. Also, Malfoys don’t talk about their feelings.”

 

Harry grins at the joke and Lucius smiles at him.

 

“Because I love them,” Lucius says, “I need to talk with you about them. Because they are both not very well at the moment.”

 

“I know,” Harry says quietly. He can see it; Olie is weepy and throws tantrums non-stop, clings to Harry everyday he has to leave again. Draco is – not showing it, but he’s running ragged and Harry knows it.

 

“The fight you had,” Lucius says quietly, “when Draco came to stay with me. That fight has cut very deep for him.”

 

Harry closes his eyes.

 

“He talked with me about it,” Lucius continues, “he talked in our therapy about it. You said some things that are very – hard for him to live with.”

 

“What’s your point Lucius?” Harry asks. There’s always a point with Lucius and Harry cannot hear him talk about what he said to Draco; Harry gets too angry at himself.

 

“You have an agreement to not talk about these things right now,” Lucius says, “it’s an agreement because you feel that it will make it less real – the possibility that you will not survive the pregnancy.”

 

Harry nods, looking back at him. They haven’t said that explicitly but implicitly it has played a role. Lucius regards him calmly for a long moment.

 

“What do you think will happen to him if you don’t talk about these accusations,” Lucius says, “and you don’t wake up again from your magical sleep and you two never talk it out.”

 

Fuck, Harry thinks.

 

\--

 

“You didn’t rape me,” Harry says two days later, just when Draco leaves Harry’s tiny hospital bathroom, shirtless and with low-hanging sweatpants, hair still damp.

 

It’s his best look.

 

“That day after the burial,” Harry clarifies. “I wanted to do it just as much as you. It was very intense for me, not just sexually but emotionally too. That was why I cried.”

 

Draco looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, staring at him. “Okay,” he says, slightly distrustful.

 

“And it wasn’t rape either with Hénry,” Harry says, “it was a very advanced form of – self-harm. I wanted to keep doing it because it hurt me and I – needed the hurt. Back then. Every time you didn’t catch on how much it hurt me to have sex with the two of you, every time I had to tell him again and again that I didn’t want to do something and he tried doing it anyway and you didn’t – keep me from harm, or something, it felt like vindication that I was a bad person and I needed that feeling. At that time in my life. Not anymore.”

 

“Oh my god,” Draco says, very faintly.

 

“But to be honest, I kept thinking about it in the last weeks,” Harry says, “and most of it is truly, a hundred percent my own fault but – you know so much about healthy sexual practices. How could you not know? I think I didn’t really realize that that is still – hurting me, you allowing it. And now that I said it anyway during our fight, I think we should maybe talk about it.”

 

Draco sits down with a thump on the visitor’s chair, puts his head in his hand. The breath he draws in is already a hitch, already almost a sob.

 

“I knew,” he says after a long moment, “that you didn’t fully enjoy it. With him. I couldn’t let go of you. I was so hurt, Harry. So badly hurt after your birthday and I just wanted. You. I didn’t realize it was so bad for you, because with everyone else – it wasn’t. Right?”

  
“I loved it with everyone else,” Harry confirms quietly. “I wouldn’t do it again now, but at that time, I loved doing that with you. I felt like yours. I needed that.”

 

“I’m not perfect just because I’m supposed to know what’s right,” Draco says, “I’m not my job. I can’t live my private life perfectly. I know that it hurts you when I talk about the baby like I do but I can’t stop. It was the same in a way with Hénry. I was – shocked after he hit you. Of course, I should have seen it coming. But it gave me such a thrill that you allowed me to take you to bed with him, after I had shoved him in your face. I should never have done it. I knew I wasn’t in control of the situation. Not with sex, not without sex. I beat myself up about him for – I don’t know. Months after what happened with Olie.”

 

“You’re not a cruel person,” Harry says, “that’s what I don’t get. Why did you want to punish me?”

 

Draco heaves in another breath, still doesn’t look at him. “I never wanted to,” he says, “never. Harry. Never. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was maybe hoping you would – say something. Force me to make a decision between you and him. I wanted to hear you say that – it was either him or you. I would choose you of course, and we could have – rebuilt what we had. You would realize that what we had was good and that I deserved another chance.”

 

“Draco,” Harry says very quietly.

 

“It was horrible for me,” Draco says, “not having you but not not having you either. That you wouldn’t even understand why I needed space and time. I felt as if you made fun of my feelings and as if you invalidated them on purpose. I couldn’t make sense of anything. You got defensive the second I tried to talk with you about it. I didn’t know what to do.”

 

“I am so sorry,” Harry whispers. Draco sniffles.

 

“I am too Harry,” he says, “I knew we should have talked about it earlier. I knew that – it was wrong. But I. I’m just – Draco. I fuck up all the time. You know that better than anyone.”

 

“It sounds a bit like the manipulation strategy of a first-year Slytherin,” Harry jokes and wants to take it back immediately, knows it’s the wrong thing to say before even seeing Draco’s face close off, shuddering down.

 

“Yeah,” Draco says and gets up to get fully dressed. Not for bed, though.

 

“That was a stupid joke,” Harry says, “I know how sensitive Hogwarts houses are for you. I apologize. You know that I put my foot in my mouth all the time.”

 

“I’m bearing my heart to you,” Draco says bitterly, “and you make a stupid joke about it. I know how wrong it was. I am willing to own up to it. But I can’t if you – act like that.”

 

“Draco, please, I can’t get up,” Harry begs, “you’re right. It was stupid. I am apologizing for it. Just please don’t run off.”

 

“It’s a Malfoy thing,” Draco says, “just like you said,” and goes to get his coat, his shoes.

 

The feeling that settles in Harry’s stomach, that chokes up his throat is very much panic now and the charms around him pick up on it, issuing a warning that has Draco turn back around within seconds.

 

For a moment, they are staring at each other, suspended.

 

“I love you,” Harry tries.

 

“You didn’t say it back to me at Hogwarts,” Draco says as if he can’t help himself, “you left me hanging just like you left me hanging after I tried to befriend you in our first year. Just like you are leaving me hanging now with your insistence on having a child that will very likely kill you.”

 

“Your father said we should talk about these things,” Harry says, desperate now. If he needs to throw Lucius underneath a bus, well. He will think about that later.

 

“My father’s life is full of regrets,” Draco says, “of course, he would say something like that. And I didn’t even disagree until you made fun of me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry screams, “it was a fucking joke. I’m sorry it fell flat.”

 

The alarms are full on beeping now and the door opens to reveal his two primary healers. They look at Draco, at Harry, at the alarms and then one of them, a woman called Stavine Hurly tells Draco to get out.

 

And Draco goes.

 

\--

 

Hermione rubs Harry’s hand, eyes warm and worried on Harry’s face.

 

He’s told her all of it, all the fights they have had, all the hurtful things they have said.

 

“Maybe it was a mistake thinking any of this would work,” he says, “given how much we hated each other. Maybe we were only a mistake meant to be and we should have stopped before – having kids. Maybe I just need to get over him because I sure as hell cannot do this again.”

 

“I know Draco thinks differently,” Hermione says, “Draco wants it to work between you. Very much so.”

 

“Doesn’t feel like it right now,” Harry mumbles.

 

“Harry,” Hermione chides, “the two of you have a great relationship. You’re in a tight spot now because – I’m going to be honest okay?”

 

“Oh no,” Harry says, because being honest in Hermione’s case always means brutal. She’s the most direct person Harry knows. The term tough love was invented for her.

 

“You are tearing apart what you have because you want more, because of this incessive need to have a family that’s left from your childhood. You’re feeling as if three is not enough to be considered a family. You love the dependence small kids have on you, and you want more of them and you disregarded the danger because it has always worked out for you, in every dire situation,” Hermione says. “And Draco understands all of this, but he cannot agree with it. And that’s besides the fact that your old history is definitely hurting him more than you. He’s still incredibly mad at himself for not talking to you after your 27th.”

 

It hurts.

 

“I didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” Harry says.

 

“But you also didn’t take a morning-after potion,” Hermione says, “and you didn’t get an abortion. I can understand that an abortion would have been very difficult for you. But you didn’t even consider it.”

 

Harry’s silent, thinking.

 

“I can’t make it right now,” Harry says. “I’m 36 weeks Hermione. There’s nothing to be done now.”

 

“Yes,” Hermione agrees, “and Draco is not without blame either. He can’t say no to you for the life of him. He should have forced you to really consider the implications. He should have told you he didn’t want the baby from the moment you knew you were pregnant instead of deferring to your wishes. It wasn’t great how he communicated. He feels guilty every single time he gives you a tiny reason to be angry or sad. But you need to keep separate what happened before and after Flint. The threesomes are a different issue. The miscarriage is a different issue. What Draco thinks about Hogwarts is an entirely different issue. They don’t mean that your relationship is doomed, just that you need to have honest conversations about them. You are normally very good at having them. This is – harder, because Draco is – frankly, he’s going crazy. You can’t discuss these issues now. He can’t listen, and he goes off and you are not understanding enough when he goes off. And that you took relationship advice from Lucius – I don’t know Harry. Has Draco checked you for brain damage?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry says, “if I die in four weeks, I know it’s horrible that we didn’t clear these things up. He was right in this regard.”

 

“Well, you simply can’t die,” Hermione says, “because yes. It will be horrible.”

 

“He won’t take care of that baby if it kills me,” Harry says, doesn’t quite dare to make it a question. Hermione sighs.

 

“You are not to tell him this,” she says very firmly, “if you die – we made plans. Lucius, Ron and me. We won’t allow Olie or the baby to be harmed beyond well. The obvious harm. And we will try to keep Draco from harm. I promise that Olie and the baby will be fine. I can’t make the same promise for Draco.”

 

Harry breaths in and out, in and out.

 

“I think it’s only sinking in now,” he says, “and I know how bad that is. But I am only just now realizing that – what I am asking of him. And that’s. It’s pretty bad.”

 

“Just don’t die then,” Hermione says and rolls her eyes at him.

 

\--

 

Ron is harder, because he’s always been more Draco’s friend than Hermione.

 

He’s also harder because it hurts him more that Draco is hurting, that Harry is hurting.

 

Harry hasn’t seen Draco in nine days. He’s 37 weeks along and his stomach popped earlier that day. The bump is huge already and keeps growing and it hurts that Draco is not here. It hurts that nobody is looking forward to welcoming the baby to the world.

 

Ron looks at the bump as if it’s a personal offense.

 

“How is he doing?” Harry asks. He asked Ron earlier to tell Draco that the bump is growing, and he hoped – that Draco would come back with Ron.

 

“Having a fit,” Ron says.

 

“Ron,” Harry tries, but Ron shakes his head.

 

“He talks to me in confidence,” Ron says, “I am not telling you what he tells me. He’s trying to be there for you. He feels incredibly guilty for starting fights with you while you’re pregnant. Give him some time.”

 

“Tell him I don’t need him to be here for the birth,” Harry says, “he doesn’t have to do it. Hermione will come in with me. They are trying to not put me completely under, so I can tell them if it starts to go wrong. It will be a bit more – painful, but it’s better that way.”

 

“I can try,” Ron says, “but he will want to be there.”

 

“He’s not a specialist for this,” Harry says, “he can’t help anyway, he –“

 

“Harry, he did nothing but read up from the moment you knew you were pregnant,” Ron says, “he talked to pretty much everyone who has something to say on your issues. He has about 30 different birthing scenarios in his head for you. What do you think he would do, just stand by while his husband died if he had the power to help?”

 

“Oh,” Harry says. It’s very much Draco, but he still had no idea.

 

“Oh man,” Ron says. “Harry. I love you like a brother. But you are so obtuse sometimes that I want to shake you.”

 

\--

 

Draco’s there when Harry blinks his eyes open the next morning.

 

Harry knows immediately that he’s done something to look just like always, knows without a shadow of a doubt that he must have applied some of these potions and cremes Harry doesn’t care about to look like he always does.

 

He doesn’t want to think about how he looks underneath the magic.

 

Draco’s hand is resting on the bump.

 

“Thanks for coming,” Harry says.

 

“We’re going to induce you later,” Draco says, “we’re thinking we can better control the birth if it’s not natural.”

 

“Okay,” Harry says. He wanted a better birthing experience than last time, but well. He’s given up on the thought a long while ago.

 

Draco nods, looks at the bump.

 

“We never talked names,” he says very quietly, and Harry is hit with that extreme tide of fondness he sometimes gets for Draco, usually when he does nothing at all except for saying things like this, building a golden bridge for Harry who doesn’t deserve it after what he caused Draco to go through in the last months.

 

 “I like Louis,” he says, “for a boy. Olie and Louie, that’s quite cute, don’t you think?”

 

Draco smiles and Harry sees the strain but doesn’t comment on it. “It’s perfect,” he says.

 

“Holly for a girl,” Harry says, “didn’t think about second names, though. You pick one.”

 

Draco reaches out a tentative hand, links his fingers with Harry’s. He lifts Harry’s hand after a moment, kisses his fingertips.

 

“I was thinking Polly for a girl, but we cannot do Holly Polly,” he says wryly and Harry hums, loving him so goddamn much.

 

“How about Holly Louise?” Draco says, “because I truly do love Louis. In both forms.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice thick.

 

“And I changed my mind on something,” Draco says, “I do think that Louis Ronald still sounds horrible, but – you know. It’s probably deserved.”

 

Harry laughs. “Pray for a girl then,” he says, and Draco leans forward, kisses him.

 

“I love you,” he says. Harry says it back.

 

\--

 

It goes alright.

 

Harry only dies a little, twice, for a few seconds. He doesn’t get magical poisoning. He’s still in an awful lot of pain, crying every time he has to move even a tiny bit for days after the surgery.

 

Louis Ronald Potter has a dark patch of hair on his head. Harry’s pretty sure he’ll end up with grey eyes.

 

He’s so in love with the baby it hurts somewhere deep.

 

“That’s just where we cut him out of you,” Draco says, but he’s hardly given the baby out of his arms, so Harry knows they are alright.

 

“I’m getting a vasectomy,” Draco says, “Muggle-style if I have too.”

 

“You’re my favorite,” Harry slurs because he’s still pretty high on potions.

 

“Sleep you idiot,” Draco says, but he kisses Harry all over the face.

 

\--

 

Having two kids is – harder.

 

Harry is pretty much out of commission for almost three months. He can’t do the physical work of carrying around Louie and he can’t do anything with Olie at all except for lying in bed and reading to him or cuddling him or maybe play with some of Olie’s stuffed animals if they don’t move around too much.

 

He can’t do much magic either; Draco has him do two small spells every three hours to slowly built back up his magical stamina, but that’s it, he’s not allowed more.

 

It’s Draco who does the lion’s share of the work. St. Mungo’s is kind enough to give extended leave to Draco for six weeks, but after that it’s full on shift work for Draco again and caring for the kids and Harry.

 

Lucius is a big help. He pretty much moves in with them. Ron who works shifts too is around often, brings Rose and Hugo, sends Draco away to sleep if he’s there. Molly brings them food all the time, but she is busy with her own grandkids. Hermione can’t make it so often.

 

“Why don’t you hire someone?” Hermione asks them one evening. Draco conked out on Harry’s shoulder the second they sat down. Rose, Hugo and Olie built a little nest in Olie’s room earlier and are sleepily whispering to each other and it’s adorable. Louie is in Ron’s arms who only calls him Ronald and is very besotted.

 

“Draco trusts no one,” Harry says, “I trust no one. If we hire someone the only thing both of us will do is to have to supervise because we can’t trust anyone.”

 

Hermione rolls her eyes.

 

“There is a risk,” Ron says, “and it’s not so small. Draco still gets about thirty howlers a day at work.”

 

“Great,” Harry says sarcastically. It’s another thing they don’t talk about; the aftermath of the Prophet pictures of Draco touching Harry at Hogsmeade. That has been something Draco dealt with by himself; Grimmauld is by now impenetrable to anyone and anything not inside their little group of people.

 

Draco twitches against him and Harry leans down to press a kiss against his head, keeps his lips there for a moment. He’s not done much again today but he wishes he could just curl up with Draco and fall asleep.

 

“It’s still too much work for just Draco,” Hermione says, “and Lucius can’t stay forever either.”

 

“I’m off bedrest in a week,” Harry says, “it will get better then.”

 

“Draco has about a year of sleep to catch up on,” Hermione counters.

 

Draco whimpers against Harry. “Babe?” Harry asks softly, nudges him a little bit, but Draco settles back down, sinks more fully against him.

 

“That’s just a point for me,” Hermione says, “or do you think it’s normal he sleeps this deeply when he’s not alone with you?”

 

Draco whimpers again and then wakes up wide-eyed. His breathing is a little too fast and Harry feels protective all of a sudden, turns around and over him to block him off from Hermione and Ron on the other couch.

 

“Hey,” Harry says very low, “hey. You’re fine.”

 

Draco reaches out to clutch Harry’s biceps, looks around, gets his bearings. “Sorry,” he says, clearly embarrassed and pretty much flees the scene, taking Louie with him.

 

Hermione and Ron leave shortly after, one sleepy kid each clutched in their arms.

 

“Talk to him,” Hermione says, and Harry knows that she’s right, that he needs to stop putting talking with Draco off.  

 

Draco is still awake when Harry comes up the stairs. His magical surgery scar is pretty much invisible due to Draco’s very determined spell-work but hurting nonetheless and Draco reaches for the scar reducing potion he designed years ago, runs his hand over Harry’s belly very slowly and softly.

 

“The things I said about your miscarriage,” Harry says, because it’s best with Draco to just go for it and not hesitate, “I need to apologize for them. I am so very sorry I said that to you.”

 

Draco nods, doesn’t look at him and Harry reaches out and takes the potion out of his hands, places it on the night-stand, crawls on his lap.

 

“And what I said about Hénry and us,” Harry says, “it was true, but it was also awful of me to do that to you. I don’t want you to beat yourself up about it. It’s in the past and it doesn’t hurt me and if you need time to come to terms with it, you take that time, okay? If you need to talk about it more, we can do that.”

 

He leans down and runs his nose through Draco’s hair, kisses his ears, studies his bent down head. Draco’s hands are on his hips and Harry grinds down carefully. Draco isn’t hard; neither is Harry, but it’s been – months, much too long since they have done this.

 

“And I promise not to have another child,” Harry says, “nor do I want you to try for it again. I started talking about my – wish for more children in therapy. I don’t think my motivation was all that healthy.”

 

“Harry,” Draco says very quietly and finally looks up at him. His eyes are swimming in tears.

 

“I am so sorry that you feel the way you do about Hogwarts,” Harry says, “but I can understand why you do. I know you don’t want them to ever go there and I can – understand. I can’t promise yet that I’ll be okay with it, but I promise I will think about it.”

 

“If you guarantee me they’re ending up in Hufflepuff they can go,” Draco says very watery and Harry snorts.

 

“We both know which house Olie would end up in,” he says and Draco huffs, but it’s true; Olie is a tiny master manipulator, getting by with his secretive ways because he’s so damn cute.

 

“And us not having sex or any kind of quality time just for the two of us – I notice that, and I regret it. I am working on it,” Harry whispers and rolls his hips and Draco moans, helplessly against his neck.

 

“You’re not ready,” he says, but it’s feeble and Harry knows that he needs it, needs it more than anything.

 

“Let me take care of you,” Harry says, “you take such good care of me and the boys, but I need you to stop now and remember that Draco exists, too. Draco needs time for Draco, okay? If I am cleared after the examination on Thursday, you need to promise me that you take it easier.”

 

“Please,” Draco says, rubbing his dick against Harry’s and Harry reaches down to take them both in hand, strokes them slowly.

 

“I’ve been awful to you,” he says, “I’ve been selfish. I’ve almost did the most horrible thing to you. I won’t do it again, I promise. I feel so guilty. Let me make it up to you. You’re my – Draco, you’re the fucking love of my life.”

 

Draco whimpers and comes, arching up against Harry and Harry comes too, kisses him, lets Draco ease him off and down. They cuddle up; when Draco slips out from underneath Harry to feed Louie three hours later, Harry waits up for him and cuddles back in.

 

\--

 

Harry makes the decision pretty impulsively but the weather in Britain has been sluggish for weeks and it’s weighing on his mind. He kind of likes that all of them are summer children, but he finds that first celebrating Draco’s, then Olie’s and then his birthday and now Louie’s after that leaves too many months to stretch and fill with nothing to look forward to.

 

He knows how lucky Draco is to get two full weeks off over Christmas and New Year’s and for moment he hesitates, because it’s nice to spend that time with family but then he gets on with it. Draco and he need time alone, desperately. Harry’s pretty much back in action but he can’t remember a day that wasn’t rushed or hectic in some way. Olie hasn’t been dealing with having a baby brother too well, with not having Harry around for much of anything after the birth. Louie himself is more prone to sickness, to aching tummies, to long sleepless nights. And Draco is still reeling. Harry tells himself to give nothing but understanding and patience; it takes time to get over all of it.

 

Two weeks in a villa in Thailand with their own pool and far away from anyone sounds just like the thing they need, and Harry doesn’t bother with the money. Draco earns well, he earns less well but still has inheritance and Draco’s inheritance is a completely different matter. They can afford it; they haven’t afforded much in the last years and Harry will damn well spend that money.

 

He reserves the portkey straight away too, then goes up to pack. It’s short notice and Draco better not runs late, or they will miss that portkey, but Harry can’t care, thrumming with nervous energy.

 

He needs to fix their relationship and he hopes holidays will give them the time to do so.

 

He waits with the kids down at the salon for Draco, suitcases at their feet. Olie is chattering away and Harry listens and hums and the floo thankfully flares up to life on time, Draco stepping out swiftly and elegantly as always. He catches sight of them and Harry wants to grin and say surprise, but he doesn’t get to it. Draco’s – face falls, does a horrible thing, eyes going wide and terrified and Harry is confused for a few seconds before he realizes how they look like, what kind of conclusion someone could draw who you’ve been fighting with for over a year.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but Olie already wanders over and Draco – Draco does the most horrible thing. The fight just – goes out of him. He doesn’t pick Olie up, bends down to him instead, moves like an old man, and when he looks at Harry his face is a mask. His hands are tremoring, but his face gives nothing. He looks a lot like Lucius.

 

“It’s for holidays,” Harry says quietly because he can’t pretend to not have seen what he just saw, “I booked us in a villa in Thailand. Portkey is in 30 minutes. I thought it would – do us some good. To be by ourselves over the holidays.”

 

Draco closes his eyes for a moment, then swallows, nods, gets back up.

 

“I packed your stuff,” Harry says. Olie has stuffed half of his hand in his face, watching them wide-eyed. Draco nods again, not looking at Harry and they stand there, not moving.

 

“Babe?” Harry says when Draco turns away from them. He shifts Louie on his arm, goes over and runs his free hand over Draco’s back, watches the single tear that escapes Draco in silent sorrow. “I’m sorry to scare you,” Harry says and Draco heaves in a breath.

  
“Daddies?” Olie asks and he sounds scared and tiny and Draco turns around, sweeps him up. “Are you excited to see Thailand, buddy?” he asks, voice not completely steady, and grabs the bigger suitcase. He keeps chit-chatting with Olie until they reach the Ministry, very carefully not looking at Harry. Harry and he switch baby and suitcase around once they line up in front of their portkey; this is still working at least, Harry thinks bitterly when the portkey yanks them awake. He doesn’t have to tell Draco to take the children on these rides because Draco knows well enough that Harry will just drop them.

 

The villa is gorgeous and big and airy, and the weather is just like Harry hoped. It comes with a private house-elf who greets them graciously and takes care of their luggage before leading them out on the terrace to enjoy their dinner. Olie is pretty awed by it and for once not fussy with his food and Harry tries to enjoy this, nursing Louie outside without his nipples freezing off.

 

Olie falls asleep not much later, the journey having tired him out and Harry takes the change to get Louie down for the night as well. He sits with them for a moment, his two pretty boys and looks at them, Louie’s tiny fists and Olie’s tiny dirty feet.

 

Draco sits with his head in his hands when Harry comes back down, and Harry grabs a chair and drags it over, sits himself down in front of him, their knees touching.

 

“Out with it,” he says, steady and soft, “all of it. We are talking it out now. We can’t go on like this.”

 

Draco nods but doesn’t otherwise react. Harry hesitates for a moment, before leaning forward, pressing his forehead against Draco’s.

 

“Babe,” he says, still steady.

 

“What do you want to talk about?” Draco rasps and Harry kisses him on his brow, leaves his lips there.

 

“All of it,” he says, “the things we said to each other. Whatever else is on your mind that makes it impossible for us to really connect right now. I want us to have an honest conversation about where we stand. I’ll get us Veritaserum if I have to.”

 

Draco huffs and then falls silent again.

 

This is the wrong approach, Harry thinks. This isn’t working and for a second, he panics, before he – remembers a way to maybe help Draco that’s better than talking. They have never done that explicitly, but it has been a part of their sex life before and Harry has noted from the very first time what it did to Draco.

 

“Come to bed with me,” he says and pulls Draco after himself. He checks in on the kids once more, on their monitoring charms, before proceeding to their own bedroom, before taking off his pants and shirt and laying down in the middle of the bed.

 

Draco watches him, hovering unsure at the side of the bed.

 

“Will you be my good boy,” Harry says very deliberately, “and get me hard for you?”

 

Draco shivers, hair on his arms standing up and then he scrambles after Harry, puts his mouth on him and moans with it.

 

“Good boy,” Harry says quietly and pets his hair. He keeps up the commands and the praise until he is fully hard, until Draco’s hips keep grinding down on the mattress desperately before he orders him to strip, before he orders him to spread his cheeks, so Harry can eat him out. He only eases off when both of Draco’s legs are tremoring uncontrollably.

 

The charms are quickly whispered, and he arranges Draco on all fours, before lining up behind him. They don’t do that usually, not the ass eating, not Draco from behind, but Draco is so turned on that Harry aches for him, regrets not giving him this earlier.

 

The sex is hard, harder than usual. Harry draws on every ounce of patience while he fucks Draco, long, hard thrusts that have Draco rocking forward with their force. All Draco can do is brace himself, can’t touch himself and Harry pounds and pounds him until Draco is wailing, until Harry tells him to come. Draco’s hole constricts so hard around him that it tips Harry over the edge too and he grinds himself deep before ordering Draco to lick him clean, before licking Draco clean afterwards. He gathers him in his arms and praises him again, kisses the tears away, licks up the sweat on Draco’s temples, rocks him a little. They fall asleep on the covers, squeezed together as tightly as they can.

 

“My good boy,” Harry says just before he falls asleep and Draco moans again, quietly, against his throat.

 

\--

 

Sex doesn’t magically cure their problems, but it does a lot.

 

Draco has carried too much weight on his shoulders for too long and Harry can see what it does to him, to be allowed to give that weight to someone else, to be at Harry’s mercy every night in bed. They haven’t had so much sex in years and Harry doesn’t know why. He will be less careless he vows, will make their sex life a bigger priority for him.

 

They don’t do anything extreme, like plugging or blindfolding or tying up or flogging, because neither of them could stand it. It’s enough to order Draco, to praise him afterwards to finally break out of that circle of silence and fighting.

 

Their first week in Thailand is pretty much spend like that. They eat good food, they lounge at the pool, Harry plays with Olie and takes care of Louie. Draco sleeps in and takes naps and tries to wake himself up only to have Harry order him back to bed. It does wonders for him, to finally sleep his fill.

 

The second week they explore a little, visit a few local villages, go to the beach. Harry picked a less touristy spot on purpose, no party beaches and it’s nice and peaceful. Olie makes friends with other kids and dogs and cats and a few temple monkeys. They go and visit an Elephant rescue center, they visit a few temples. They eat some spicy food that Harry loves and Draco hates and in the late afternoon they come back to watch the sun set from their terrace. They don’t do much of anything for Christmas, just sit and watch Olie tear into his presents with joy and no decorum despite Lucius’ best efforts. Lucius has not sent his over and Olie is delighted by the vision of a second Christmas back home. At New Year’s, Olie conks out long before midnight is even close, and Harry and Draco take the change to fuck into the New Year.

 

On their last night, with the kids in bed, Harry and Draco cuddle up on the lounge sofa outside, Harry with a wine and Draco with a beer.

 

“This has been wonderful,” Draco says quietly, presses a kiss against Harry’s collarbone. Harry smiles against his hair, listening to the sounds of the tropical forest around them.

 

“Are we better?” he asks quietly, and Draco snuggles closer, runs his hand over Harry’s chest. “We are,” he confirms, “I just hope we don’t lose that again when we come back.”

 

“We have to start talking again,” Harry confirms, “I would like it if you could try to work a little less. You need to take better care of yourself. I am starting to think that I might like to try and see if we can’t find a house-elf after all. It’s been a bit much.”

 

“Or,” Draco says and kisses up to Harry’s neck, “we can just continue to fuck our problems away.”

 

Harry snorts, leans down and they kiss, long and intense. When they break apart, they are both flushed.

 

“I love you,” Harry says, watching Draco’s face. “I haven’t stopped loving you for a single moment in the last year. I’ve been horrible, and I will apologize for everything I said and did forever, but I have loved you throughout it all. I work more on showing it again this year.”

 

“I love you too,” Draco says hoarsely, “I love our kids. I love that we get to have Louie because you insisted on him even though I was so set against him,” and then they kiss again.

 

\--

 

Olie is five and a half when the war comes back into their lives.

 

Lucius is over that evening, so are Hermione and Ron with their kids. The house is full and lively but Olie has been in a bad mood ever since coming back from school.

 

They debated ages on it, considered sending him to a Muggle school, but in the end, they went ahead with one of the few Wizarding primary schools, the one Rose is already enrolled in. It’s been alright; Harry unpacked the whole celebrity package and had a talk with all teachers about Olie’s fathers and privacy and they thought they were prepared, until Olie looks at Draco and says: “Daddy, will you kill me because I am not pureblood?”

 

Draco freezes with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Lucius mouth firms but he gives no other reaction. Hermione and Ron look very, very, very uncomfortable. “Because you are a Death Eater,” Rose butts in, very helpfully. “Oh my,” Ron says while Hermione winces.

 

Louie uses that moment of Harry’s inattentiveness to spill his carrot juice all over himself and Harry and the dining table, but nobody moves.

 

“Daddy isn’t going to hurt you at all,” Harry says because Olie’s chin starts to wobble. Olie sniffs once, then again and then he slides down from his chair and plasters himself on top of Harry, getting even more juice everywhere. “But Death Eaters don’t love half-bloods,” he wails, and Draco gets up then, wipes his mouth very economically. “Draco,” Harry warns but it’s too late. Without a look or word for anyone Draco goes out of their kitchen.

 

“Oliver,” Lucius says, “come here so I can clean you up.”

 

“Do you hate me too?” Olie says while peering at Lucius and Harry half despairs, but contrary to Draco, Lucius never loses his head around their kids. “No,” he says calmly, “I love you. Now come here.”

 

Olie goes and Harry’s half braindead from hearing Lucius admit that so easily when he knows how much Draco still hopes for getting a similar sentiment out of him.

 

“Your father is not a Death Eater any longer,” Lucius says while lifting Olie up, drawing the juice away easily from his clothes with his wand, “and your father loves you more than anything in the whole world. Would he have married your Daddy if he hated half-bloods?”

 

“No,” Olie says and cuddles closer, looking up at Lucius.

 

“Did you talk about this at school today, buddy?” Harry asks. Hermione gets up to do the juice cleaning on the table and on Harry and Louie and it’s a good thing, because Harry will not learn that spell in his lifetime.

 

“Yes,” Olie says, “we talked about Death Eaters and the war and Voldemort and Daddy and then Pierceton said that my Daddy would kill me, and that Daddy would have to fight him like he fought Voldemort and then Rose hit him on the nose.”

 

“Only a little,” Rose says immediately, and it makes Harry smile.

 

“Your Daddy didn’t have a choice,” Lucius says before anyone else can say something. “He never wanted to be a Death Eater.”

 

“That’s alright then,” Olie says and very sneakily steals a piece of sausage from Lucius’ plate and Harry marvels once again on how easy things are in childhood – you come home half afraid your Daddy is going to kill you and all it takes are a few nice words and all is alright again.

 

“He doesn’t like to remember it, Olie,” Harry says, “if you want to talk about it with Daddy you can, but you have to give him extra many cuddles and kisses.”

 

“Okay,” Olie says, clearly bored now with the topic and Harry excuses himself, hands Louie-duty over to Ron.

 

Draco is sitting on their bed, staring at nothing, doesn’t react when Harry presses their shoulders together.

 

“He’s alright again after your father told him you never wanted to,” Harry says quietly and Draco nods, faraway.

 

“That’s an easy fix then,” he says, voice horribly detached.

 

“Babe,” Harry says very quietly.

 

“Let’s just forget how goddamn proud I was to take the Mark,” Draco says, “or the things I did sixth year or the things I did during the summer and during the holidays or –“

 

“You can have that talk later,” Harry interrupts, “when he’s older. When he can understand better.”

 

“Sure,” Draco says starkly and doesn’t make a move. They sit quietly for a while.

 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Draco says, “I knew it would come up. I’m not – I shouldn’t have walked out.”

 

“That’s okay,” Harry says, “this is hard for you. Your father made it better. Pretty sure Olie has half forgotten about it.”

 

“I can’t forget though,” Draco says, and Harry links their fingers, rubs his thumb over Draco’s wedding ring.

 

“Nobody says you have to,” he says quietly, and Draco squeezes his hand.

 

“How could I have been so stupid?” he asks and Harry aches for him.

 

“You know what I think about that,” he says quietly and Draco slumps against him, leans his head on his shoulder.

 

“Fuck,” he says, and Harry kisses his head, his hair, until there’s a knock on their door.

 

“Oliver wanted to make sure you are okay,” Lucius says, and Draco gets up and opens his arms, catches Olie when their child flings himself at him.

 

“Hey baby,” he says and hugs him close and Harry gets up, closes their door behind him, giving them privacy. He and Lucius don’t look at each other when they go back down, but Harry isn’t surprised when he finds Lucius touching his arm just before they make it back to the kitchen.

 

“I apologize,” he says and Harry nods, doesn’t dare look at him.

 

He’s not angry with Draco, never angry with Draco, but he will always be with Lucius and they function so well because they both ignore it.

 

“Okay,” Harry says and goes back into the kitchen.

 

\--

 

Draco is subdued and still in the next days and Harry makes an appointment at the school without telling him.

 

He had asked to be informed in advance before the kids were talking about the war the first time and he’s so fucking furious about that broken promise that he needs to do one of Draco’s deep-breathing exercises before he can go in to meet Olie’s teacher.

 

30 minutes later, he is even more furious, remembering the teacher’s trembling mouth and fingers and her upturned chin, the way she said that no kids should be given privileges. When Harry reminded her of what she had promised it became clear pretty quickly that the school wanted the publicity of having one of Harry Potter’s children attending. The way she looked at Harry after telling him that she herself could never forget her principles to the point of marrying into a Death Eater family will stay with him.

 

That’s a thing after the war; people who were uninvolved feel the need to overplay their own involvement, all pretending, naturally, that they were part of the winning side. Harry knows the name of every last person who fought during the Battle, of everyone active in the resistance. The Wizarding community of the UK isn’t big enough not to; most of its 13000 members were neutral, with only two core groups doing battle with each other.

 

People like to forget that, because it was clear that if Voldemort had managed to kill Harry, the consequences would have become bigger and involved more of them. Dumbledore spoke of it, the difficulties with training people, getting more people involved in the resistance and Harry doesn’t feel very charitable at the moment, so he hates her, hates that teacher who can turn her nose up in the air and claim she would have done the right thing even though she was more than old enough to do just that for real.

 

He’s going to take Olie out of that school, he decides but doesn’t act on that yet, doesn’t want to rush into class and embarrass his child. He needs to talk with Draco, but he doesn’t want to do that either and so he apparates to Ron’s flat to pick Louie back up.

 

His younger son giggles when he sees Harry, toddles over to him and Harry lifts him easily, once again overcome by how very frail and small his child still appears to him.  “Hey buddy,” he says and grins when Louie says “dwaddy” in that cute little way of speaking he has developed in the last few weeks. “God, Daddy loves you so much,” he says very quietly, kisses Louie’s face, his dark hair and hikes him up to sit him on his shoulders.

 

“How did it go?” Ron asks, and Harry tells him and Ron sighs.

 

“I’m taking him out,” Harry says, “no idea what we’ll do then, but he’s not staying there.”

 

“Yeah,” Ron says quietly, “I’ll talk with Hermione about Rose.”

 

“Don’t worry about that, Ron,” Harry says, because he knows that Ron and Hermione won’t manage without having Rose at school and Hugo at Lucius’ daycare. “As if mate,” Ron says and leans up to kiss Louie goodbye before hugging Harry loosely.

 

Harry makes dinner that night, puts some effort into it. Olie comes home subdued, hangs out in the kitchen and Harry entertains him, tugs him in against the curve of his own body, allows him to steal some chocolate before sending him away for some pre-nighttime telly. He has an idea of what Olie must be going through right now, but he can’t think about it now, because thinking about it makes all their silverware shake and Harry could do without an embarrassing magical accident.

 

“That smells delicious,” Draco says half an over later and Harry goes over to him, draws him in and kisses him deeply, holds him close and breaths him in for a moment. “Harry?” Draco asks, and Harry tells him, and Draco goes very white.

 

“Stop it,” Harry says, “stop beating yourself up. She didn’t have to decide between something she was groomed to want forever and the lives of her parents. She wasn’t without options and without anyone willing to help her to find a way out. I don’t want you to – pretend you could have done something different. You were six-fucking-teen, Draco. Imagine Olie being 16 and in the same situation. Would you judge him as harshly as you are judging yourself?”

 

“You don’t understand, Harry,” Draco says, and his voice sounds awful, breathy and choked as if he’s close to tears. “You – you also had to make horrible choices and you didn’t make the wrong ones. Nobody could have judged you if you wouldn’t have wanted to fight against Voldemort but I couldn’t even –“

 

“No,” Harry says, quietly. On the stove, the food is starting to burn and telly time is long over and Harry knows that their voices carry. “We are not doing that, Draco. We are not going to discuss it because I know we’ll never see eye to eye regarding your involvement. We are going to discuss what to do about the issue at hand and not get sidetracked.”

 

“I am not strong the way you are,” Draco says just as quietly, and Harry wants to go over and shake him silly.

 

“You’re an idiot,” he says instead and goes to kiss him, draws Draco’s head down to hide against his own neck. “And I’ve got you,” he adds, because he knows that it helps Draco. He’s infinitely vulnerable about the war and yet, Harry has no real illusions who of them would keep a clear head if they were attacked right this moment, but if Draco feels better with the illusion that Harry’s in control, Harry will give that to him.

 

He’s gotten back much of it, confidence in himself and in his magic in the last few years. Having kids played a big part in that, but also saying goodbye once and for all to a version of himself who did great things after the war. Harry’s always secretly known that he values family and friends over career or achievements and he loves that he’s able to stand by that decision now.

 

Everyone in wizarding Great Britain had an opinion on what Harry should do, who he should be after the war and getting to be himself even if it took him some ten years, makes him feel as if he has truly won. He loves who he loves, does what he does and it’s good.

 

“We’re having food, then I’ll put Louie in bed and then we’ll discuss this,” Harry says and kisses Draco’s frown.

 

After dinner, Harry comes back from getting Louie down to find Olie wrapped into Draco’s arms, crying big ugly tears. “The other kids keep saying that me and my father should get the kiss,” Draco says quietly. He’s composed, and Harry adjusts his own reaction to it, kneels in front of them and strokes Olie’s back. “Nobody’s going to hurt your Daddy or Lucius,” he says very softly and Olie cries harder, clutches at Harry now too. “I don’t like school,” he hiccups, and Draco shushes him. “You don’t have to buddy,” he says and Olie looks at him, his big, pretty eyes filled with so much anguish that Harry wants to hit something. “Nobody likes me,” he wails and Draco hugs him closer, tells him that Rose and Hugo and his Daddies and his grandpa and Louie and Ron and Hermione all love him so much and Harry sits next to them and hugs them both, gets up and makes them a hot cocoa, because Olie won’t see it, but Harry sees that Draco feels ripped open, stripped down and raw and it pains him and he needs a moment to busy his hands. He has more than an inkling that Draco was once crying like this to Lucius, is uncomfortable with the knowledge that Hogwarts-era Harry would have made fun of him for it and so he brings them the cocoa and allows Olie to fall asleep on the couch in between them.

 

When Draco comes to their bedroom after getting Olie into bed, Harry gives him time to compose himself by taking a shower, going back down and cleaning the kitchen. He takes his time, does it manually and when he comes back up, Draco is waiting for him in bed. Harry lays down next to him and holds him in silent sorrow, while Draco cries and cries and cries in his arms. “Babe,” he says, and Draco shakes his head and Harry keeps holding him and, in the end, they fall asleep before they can talk about it.

 

\--

 

“Maybe taking him out of school isn’t enough,” Draco says the next morning. He’s working the late shift and Louie tries to run after some magic toy cars that evade him. “It’s like watching a puppy,” Ron said when he saw it the first time and then promptly tried the charm on Hugo and was delighted to see that it still worked on a five-year old.

 

“I’m not so super keen on moving away again,” Harry admits. It’s a nice sunny morning and the open windows let in a nice breeze that Harry learnt to charm to smell as if it’s coming from the sea. He’s done a lot of work on Grimmauld in the last years and he learns new stuff pretty much every week and he loves it, loves the home he created for them.

 

He will be sad to see it go back to its desolate state.

 

“He’s miserable,” Draco says very quietly, “and we can’t make it better. Do you just want to tell him to buckle up and go through all the way to Hogwarts? It won’t be better there.”

 

“The teachers are better,” Harry says and Draco huffs. “Maybe a little,” he amends, and Harry takes it as the effort it is, knows fully well that Draco hates Hogwarts but still tries to respect it for Harry’s sake.

 

“We could lodge a formal complaint over the summer holidays with the principal and the board,” Harry says, “get the teacher removed or Olie into another class. I’m pretty sure she’s encouraging the behavior of his peers.”

 

“That’s months away,” Draco snaps, and Harry goes over to the coffee machine to switch it back on. In the hallways Louie is saying “bwad carsie” and Harry could pick him up and eat him. Even Draco smiles hearing it.

 

“I agree that we need a short-time solution,” Harry says, “and taking him out and home-schooling him for a while is the obvious one. But probably not the best.”

 

“You wanted to take him out yesterday,” Draco says, and Harry sits down next to him, bumps their knees together.

 

“I thought about it,” Harry says, “and it will obviously send a signal I am not sure we should send. But he’s too young, so, yes, I still want to take him out, but I would hope that it’s temporary.”

 

“You can try and get her fired for all I care,” Draco says, “but I still want him out. I can’t – see him like this.”

 

“We can’t protect him from ever getting hurt,” Harry says and Draco sneers and turns away from him.

  
“I like to keep the hurt that’s a direct result of my actions as far away as possible,” he says icily cold. Harry reaches out and strokes through his hair, rests his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

 

“I understand that,” he says, “but I think we need to come to terms with the fact that that won’t be possible.”

 

“Dwaddies,” Louie says from the door, thumb in his mouth, watching them with big eyes. Harry goes to him quickly and picks him up, blows a raspberry against his neck. “Let’s play cars while Daddy drinks his coffee,” he says and gives Draco some privacy.

 

\--

 

“Get undressed,” Harry commands four days later when he’s about to strangle Draco if he doesn’t stop feeling sorry for himself. Draco gives him a look full of contempt and Harry spreads his legs wider from where he’s sitting at the edge for their bed, stares him down.

 

“Undress,” he repeats very softly, “and get down here and get me hard.”

 

“I’m not in the mood,” Draco snaps and Harry keeps looking at him, watches him yank his shirt and trousers off, watches him watch Harry for a moment, before he comes, still defiant and angry.

 

He isn’t either of that by the time Harry slides into him.

 

It’s been awhile since Harry gagged him to keep Draco’s voice down, but he does so today, doesn’t want to mute him or put up a privacy screen. He wants it out of Draco, all of that tension and unhappiness and Draco’s moans get so high-pitched and loud that he stuffs his mouth with one of their pillows, before nudging his legs closer together to keep fucking him.

 

“I can’t,” Draco says half an hour later, “it’s too much, I need you to stop,” but Harry keeps going, knows he’s just babbling and is rewarded with Draco begging him not to stop, to breed him ten minutes later, is rewarded with Draco coming so hard, he passes out straight after.

 

Harry cleans up their mess, nudges and pulls at Draco until he’s under the covers, kisses his slack mouth before switching off the lights.

 

In the morning, Draco will be more relaxed and finally agrees to go and meet the principal with Harry. They’ll find out that the teacher acted independently; the principal is appalled and angry, and she’ll get demoted to an assistant teacher position. The principal organizes a parent meeting with Olie’s class and Harry goes with Hermione, clears the air. One mother tells the group early on that she is shocked that her son thinks it’s okay to bully someone based on their parentage and that she’ll talk to him now that she knows. Her angry words set the stage and it helps that Harry talks a bit about Draco, about the impact this whole situation has had on him. Olie will still not like school but will go there more willingly, grow more confident, mostly because Draco sits down with him and Lucius, will talk about their family history and not shroud it in secrecy.

 

Harry doesn’t know it yet, doesn’t know about the other thing that comes from that night, but Draco will be the most insecure pregnant man ever, so unsure about his looks and appeal while his belly and nipple grows that it will drive Harry crazy, will make Harry impossibly fond of him at the same time. He’ll kiss Draco’s stomach, and hold him through labor and he’ll pay back all the nipple teasing, and Milo Jamie Potter will hold a special place in his heart for coming from Draco not from him and still looking just like Harry, prompting Ron to say that their kids have gotten increasingly Harry-nized.

 

\--

 

Their third son is a quiet baby, watching the world around him with Harry’s green eyes. He’s easy to please, easy to entertain, easily entertains himself by watching the world around him.

 

Louie and Olie both love to play with him, show him around and Harry can’t fault them; he’s a pretty baby, smiles often and giggles at the world around him.

 

Draco’s and Harry’s roles as parents were never fixed in the first place, but Draco getting to experience birth and being the primary care-taker of a newborn shift their roles a little. Harry does more work around the house, takes their older boys out for outings a lot to give Draco and the baby some quiet time.

 

He loves it, this period of their lives. Draco is clearly enjoying the downtime and Harry gets a kick out of watching them, Draco nursing their new-born, Draco cuddling with Milo the older he gets, Draco carrying him around. He’s shyly proud of him, in a different way than he was with Olie and Louie.

 

“It suits him,” Lucius says one day to Harry while they both watch Draco slowly rocking Milo to sleep. “Yeah, it does,” Harry says quietly. They’ve talked about having another baby but for now they are happy with three; and while nobody can really explain why Draco did get pregnant after all and managed to carry the baby to terms, Harry knows that Draco has a gut-feeling that it was a one-shot, that Milo was a tiny surprise miracle and can’t be repeated.

 

They’ve finally talked about Draco’s miscarriage when they found out about Milo, when Draco was so scared that he had to take unpaid leave from work for a few weeks because he couldn’t care for his patients. “I can’t do it again,” Draco said, and Harry kissed him slowly, carefully. “If you don’t want to try carrying it to term, you don’t have to,” Harry said, because he had truly learnt his lesson.

 

But Draco had wanted to try, and Harry will forever be grateful for it; for the fact that Draco trusted him to take care of him in the final stages of pregnancy. The birth was just as Harry had hoped for himself and Harry’s so happy that Draco got to have it, a positive pregnancy and birthing experience.

 

Having Milo made Draco softer while it made Harry more confident and they can both live with that.

 

\--

 

“Should have stopped at one,” Draco complains at Christmas morning 2024 and Harry groans in agreement.

 

It’s not even six in the morning but Louie has peered into their room twice already to check if they are up. Harry can hear Olie talking about the presents he’ll get and what his brothers won’t get, because he’s the oldest. Milo, forever less concerned with worldly things than the other two, says all he wishes for is a white Christmas and Harry turns a doubtful look at their windows.

 

Outside the sun is shining and it’s seven degrees, because climate change.

 

Louie is silent, like he has been ever since school started and it’s what gets Harry up.

 

There wasn’t a Hogwarts letter for him and they are still dealing with the fallout.

 

Harry doesn’t care about the press calling his child names or Lucius saying he’s disappointed or Molly making everyone uncomfortable by caring too much.

 

He only cares about the fact that Louie hasn’t said much of anything since they’ve seen Olie off last September. He only cares about Draco finding their child outside in the middle of the night three weeks ago, his fingers and toes turned blue, saying that he was trying to provoke the magic into existing by endangering his life, the way some old books claim to be able to heal Squibism. He only cares about Draco blaming himself, claiming that all the negative energy surrounding Louie’s birth couldn’t have been good for him. He only cares about Oliver not being a good big brother at all right now, walking through the house with his nose up in the air, feeling very smug and superior, reminding Harry horribly of Draco at that age. He only cares about the tension that behavior is causing between Draco and Lucius, because Draco believes Lucius to be responsible for it and Harry cares about Draco being horribly upset over it.

 

He only cares about all the running around he had to do, all the adjusting they had to do, finding a Muggle school for Louie. He only cares about Louie being behind years after the other kids because they didn’t prepare him for Muggle school. He only cares about Louie coming home and locking himself in his room and the dark smudges underneath Louie’s eyes that get more bruised with each week. He only cares about the look he gave Harry when Harry asked if he had found friends, wanted to arrange for a playdate and he only cares about both Draco and him struggling to help him with his schoolwork. He only cares about Olie saying what a dumb place when they all went to see Louie’s Christmas play three days ago, Olie saying that he would rather kill himself than going there and get bored to hell and the way Louie’s face looked when he heard it. He only cares about the ripped sheets of paper he found, letters to Santa in which Louie is asking, heartbreakingly, to be normal.

 

He only cares about making it better.

 

“Let’s get cracking,” Harry says and gets up, opens the door wide to reveal their kids nesting in the hallway. “Hair and teeth first,” he announces and watches them scramble before starting coffee for Draco and him before they watch their sons descend into Christmas presents madness.

 

\--

 

It’s weird, seeing Milo off. Harry knew the day would come, obviously, when even his youngest child would leave his home to travel to Hogwarts, but it still hurts somewhere deep in his chest.

 

Louie is busy talking to Ron and Harry takes a moment to lean back against Draco, feels Draco wrap him into his arms, press a kiss behind his ear. He knows Draco shares the wistfulness and that knowledge helps to make it hurt a little less.

 

His smallest baby is grown-up now and Harry doesn’t like it.

 

Louie still lives with them and will continue to do so but he’s already talking about having a school year abroad, is already begging Harry with his big grey eyes to be allowed to live somewhere else for at least half a year.

 

It’s a natural course of life, Harry knows. He’s happy to see them grow, to grow into their own people, but he misses the time when they were as close to him as his own body.

 

“Poor baby,” Draco says to him quietly and nuzzles against his neck and Harry turns around and burrows against him, allows himself to be held for a little while longer.

 

It’s rare that Draco joins him when he takes Olie to the train but this year he came, and it’s been fine; a few whispers, a few stares but nothing they couldn’t handle. Maybe it was Ron’s uniform, but Harry likes to believe that society has moved forward in the past years, ever since Hermione and Lucius initiated the conversation councils where victims and perpetrators of the war sat in circles and talked to each other.

 

Harry’s been to a number of them, which increased their popularity rapidly; he usually goes with Lucius, who’s a master in voicing truths without baring all that’s on his mind. Draco only started going a year ago and he’s mostly quiet, sits close to Harry. So far, he’s only admitted that he has a horrible hard time talking about the war, that he couldn’t believe what he used to believe but most people have reacted friendly to it; it’s so clear it’s not a front but Draco’s honest feelings that almost everyone has reacted with sincerity in return.

 

It’s also a game-changer that Harry and Draco have a squib son; that Lucius has accepted this squib son in his lineage and defends him with his former vitriol whenever Louie is criticized. That didn’t come naturally either; when they first found out, Lucius held himself aloof until Louie stopped going over, stopped coming to the door to greet his grandpa, stopped looking him in the eye when he talked to Lucius. Draco, Harry knows, was about to sever ties with his father again, was enraged and hurt and viciously angry on behalf of his son and they were rapidly moving in the direction of a complete blow-up.

 

Then they all went to Hogsmeade to visit Olie and Louie held himself apart; they were on their way to Honeydukes to cheer Louie up when none of the jokes in George’s second shop activated for him, when Harry and Lucius turned around at the same time and saw Louie at the end of the group, apart from them all, quietly crying and trying to hide it and Harry heard Lucius say _damn it all to hell_ , and he went towards Louie before Harry could stop him. For a moment, he wanted to hold him back all the same, because he was sure that Lucius would berate Louie for showing emotions in public and he caught side of Draco’s alarmed face just as Lucius bent down and handed Louie a handkerchief, before drawing him in and talking to him very quietly, very earnestly. Louie was nodding and then he cried more, and Lucius wiped his tears away and kissed his head before straightening up and pressed him close, kept Louie safely wrapped under his arm before making his way over to Harry.

 

“Why are you crying like a baby?” Olie asked, superior sneer fully in place and Lucius looked at him and said very coldly, “your brother has a right to be hurt by not having magic the way you and I do when he has to live in our magical world without being allowed a full part in it,” and Olie, forever enchanted with his grandpa paled and murmured sorry and bumped Louie’s shoulder. Lucius held Louie close for the rest of the day and went home with them that night, waited in the parlor while Harry and Draco sat up with Louie and Milo for a while before settling them into bed. “I must apologize,” Lucius said when they came down, “for my behavior. It’s – it wasn’t well done of me.”

 

“What changed?” Harry said warily, and Lucius sighed and looked off in a middle distance. “I was raised to think little of squibs,” Lucius said very quietly, “but my reason for being harsh on Louis has nothing to do with that. These reasons are much more private, but I shouldn’t have allowed them to rule me nonetheless. I already apologized to Louis today, but I would like to first explain myself to you and then to him. I don’t believe a mere apology – is enough.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked; he wanted and needed to know. Lucius swallowed.

 

“You had a younger brother,” he said to Draco out of the blue, holding his gaze. “You won’t remember him; you were just a year and three months when he was born. He was weak; he was too early. Your mother took one look at him and hated him because he was deformed. Because he was who he was, my father performed the squib testing spell on him, even though it was already forbidden by that time and it showed a positive result.”

 

“What?” Draco said in a horrible voice and Harry reached out and took his hand.

 

“My father wanted to kill him, and your mother wanted to do so, too,” Lucius went on; he was so focused and quiet that Harry knew without the shadow of a doubt that he had taking a calming draught earlier. “I sat up with him; I held him. I didn’t leave him out of my sight because I feared for his life. I didn’t – understand why I couldn’t want what they wanted; it was expected of me to not love that baby, but I did. I wanted not to love him, but I – couldn’t lie to myself about it. He was everything I was taught to hate but I just – couldn’t.”

 

“Fuck,” Draco said and started to shiver, and Harry whispered _shh_ to him and gripped his hand closer.

 

“I held him for three weeks at St. Mungo’s and then he died,” Lucius continued mercilessly, “he was too weak. They did what they could; I did what I could. He smiled at me, waving his little stumped arms and an hour later he lay dead and we erased all knowledge of his existence; it was as if he had never been there at all. I tried to mention him a few times and neither your mother nor your grandfather took kindly to it and with time I convinced myself that it was for the best; I started to – hate every squib I saw and I could only recently admit to myself that my hatred was born out of wishing that he was still alive, of knowing that – he could still have lived a life worth living if I had been strong enough to provide it, if he had been strong enough to survive the first few months.”

 

“I – I,” Draco stammered, and Lucius crossed over to them, stood in front of Draco. He was in touching distance and Harry moved closer, brushed a hand down Lucius’ long, rigid back.

 

“I was insanely jealous,” Lucius said very quietly, “of Harry and you for being allowed to have Louis, for being allowed to – love him despite him being what he is. I couldn’t look at Louis without – remembering and wishing so much to change time. I know I have hurt him but I – want to tell him this story and explain myself and tell him that I still – that I can admit that the problem is not him, but me. I still – love him immensely, just as much as I love Oliver and Milo.”

 

“What was his name?” Harry asked quietly while Lucius and Draco stared at each other, not reaching out.

 

“I called him Scorpius,” Lucius said and then his mouth trembled and then Draco finally moved and they clutched at each other and Harry excused himself and quietly entered his kids’ bedroom again, looked at Louie sleeping rolled tight like he always did, looked at Milo sprawling all over his bed, feet and hands dangling over the edge and was so grateful; so deeply grateful to have them that he cried silently for over an hour.

 

“Now it’s just us,” Draco says quietly to him on the platform and it breaks Harry out of his reverie, makes him sigh and turn around.

 

“Time for adopting?” he asks, and Draco grins and kisses him; it’s a joke by now because they have their hands full with three kids and their jobs, but Harry likes to make it.

 

“Time for having a lot of intimate times when Louie is at school,” Draco says and his voice makes Harry shiver; their sex has only become better and better with time, even though they are both pushing closer to fifty now and neither of their bodies is as fit as they used to be; but time has allowed them to know each other so intimately that nowadays Draco can reduce Harry to a quivering, shivering mess in under ten minutes, if he wants to.

 

“You dog,” Harry says and Draco grins.

 

\--

 

Harry’s stunned from behind in the year Draco and he turn 50; he falls in a way that makes it impossible to see who attacked him.  

 

He wakes up in a cellar to the faces of two middle-aged witches.

 

We love you, they say, we want to be with you. Harry finds out over the weeks that they are sisters; he finds out that their father is a Muggle who kept them in the house, raped and hurt them. Their mother used to tell them stories of the boy-who-lived. They weren’t allowed to go to Hogwarts, but they learnt things after their father’s death anyway, learnt to brew and a few spells.

 

Our savior, they say and kiss him and Harry screams for Draco.

 

He will never fully remember the three weeks they have him, but he remembers extracts; their breath on his skin, their fingers on his body. How his cock betrays him and gets hard the first few times; the Muggle medication they give him when it stays soft after a while, how it burns in his throat. He remembers their smell, how they pressed themselves into his face, forced him to lick them. He feels the cuffs for ages, will forever have problems fully feeling his fingers afterwards. A lot of foods will set him off in the future; he will fling an apple pie in Oliver’s stunned face and his son will hold him while he cries and hyperventilates. He’ll refuse to call Draco, will look at Harry and say, “you’re the strongest person I know and there’s nothing wrong or shameful about crying in front of me. I’m not just your son, I am your friend too and I want to protect you. Please, let me help.”

 

In the end, the younger one breaks; Harry’s started to sweet-talk them both, told them both separately how much he likes them not their sister. He has fought a war before and won, and he refuses to sit by and wait for a rescue that might not come. He draws on all his experience on the image of Draco and his sons, what it will do to them if he can’t come back. He refuses – to be a victim, tells himself he’s a survivor instead. It sounds like something Draco would say, but he takes that word and makes it his own and it helps.

 

The sisters start fighting and Harry keeps adding fuel to the fire, tells each of them how much better, more beautiful they are than their sister. He tells himself not to care if they kill each other; they will surely kill him if he has to stay with them any longer and one day they fight and the younger one stuns her sister who hits her head on the way down. The younger sister loses her head over it, even though Harry can tell without touching the older that she’s alive, but her sister becomes frantic, calls an ambulance to their home. It’s Muggle doctors who find Harry and give him first aid and Muggle policemen who start questioning him and the IV drip burns in his arms and it takes ages for anyone to get a phone to him, for the call to get through to Draco.

 

He won’t forget Draco saying, “thank god”, just once before he’s all business, asking where Harry is, if he’s safe.

 

“I’m there in five minutes,” he promises, “I’ll get you. You’ll be fine.”

 

Harry doubts it, but he doesn’t say it.

 

Harry’s probably lucky to escape alive, probably lucky that they haven’t mutilated him, but by the time Draco races into his Muggle hospital room, followed closely by both Olie and Louie, Harry feels all kinds of things and lucky isn’t one of them. He can barely look at his kids, can barely look at Draco and so he pretends to sleep while Olie holds his hand and Louie and Draco talk to his doctors.

 

“It’s alright, Dad,” Olie says and squeezes his hand when Harry can’t stop crying, watches Olie calling for Draco, watches Draco come back with a frown on his face.

 

“Drink this,” Draco says and pours a potion down his throat; the last thing Harry sees is Olie and Louie smiling at him.

 

He’s embarrassed, he feels shamed. Draco’s endlessly patient with him, tells him that Harry is allowed to feel whatever he feels; that it wasn’t his fault.

 

“Why do things like this keep happening to me?” Harry cries to him and Draco shakes his head at him, strokes through his hair.

 

“Because you’re in a position where people want to do these things to you, darling,” Draco says, “but it’s not ever your fault.”

 

\--

 

Draco quits his job four months after the attack on Harry.

 

He just does it, comes home and tells Harry. Harry barely makes it out of bed these days and they fight about it for a little while, but Draco isn’t swayed.

 

“My father’s money has us covered,” he says.

 

“What will you do if you don’t work anymore?” Harry says and Draco smiles.

 

“Taking you on a trip,” he says and refuses to say anything else.

 

They travel. They go to Italy, to their old place at the beginning and then again at the end of their trip. They talk a lot, mostly during their drives in the car Draco rented and that he drives himself. They drive along the Adriatic Ocean, go to Southeast Europe. It’s all new to Harry and most days, he soaks it in, but there are some days where he can’t go out of bed and Draco lets him, simply adjust their plans, gets a book and reads beside him, holds him when Harry needs it, lays away from him just touching his wrist with his fingertips when Harry needs that.

 

The first time they have sex again, Harry finds out that almost everything triggers him, much more so if he’s the one doing the penetrating. Draco moves them forward in tiny, incremental steps; he doesn’t pressure Harry, but he’s insistent on trying.

 

“You can have a normal sex life again,” he says after another failed attempt, “and we can adjust what normal means for us. We can’t allow this to rule our life.”

 

They find out that being brutally direct about it helps. Harry tells Draco things he thought would remain a secret forever; how hard he got at first, how he tried to imagine it was Draco touching him, how he doesn’t think he can ever hug another woman again. When Harry can finally admit that he feels unmanned because he’s been raped by two women, it’s like a stone lifts off his heart, especially because Draco takes it seriously, doesn’t deny what Harry feels.

 

Over time, much has changed for them, much has changed in their relationship, but this remains the same: Draco willing to listen to Harry, to wait him out, Draco taking him serious. And also this: Harry willing to explain.

 

They finally have sex for real back in Italy; Harry remembers the boys they had been at this exact same spot, all that hope and longing. All that love, too. He didn’t think they would come back here so broken again but Draco’s just as warm and careful and attentive as he had been the first time and Harry can allow himself to fall, trusts Draco to bear his weight.

 

He’s lying on Draco’s chest afterwards. Draco is quiet, draws slow circles over Harry’s shoulder and Harry can finally voice what’s been eating at him for months.

 

“I can’t go back,” Harry says.

 

“I know, Harry,” Draco says.

 

And that’s that.

 

\--

 

Lucius, it turns out, has property pretty much everywhere in the world.

 

They don’t really settle for a while, live everywhere and nowhere. Louie starts studying in Edinburgh, does a bachelor in English literature, will continue on to a PhD before he starts writing. Milo graduates and becomes Hagrid’s apprentice; Lucius whines about it for a few weeks but gives it up when Milo shines with it, keeps telling all of them how much he loves his job.

 

“Harry-nized,” Ron says knowingly and Draco smiles over the rim of his glass at Harry.

 

They see all three of their sons regularly; wizarding travel methods makes it easy to keep in touch. Olie is around most often and it worries Harry, how obviously Olie worries about him. They see the least of Louie because he needs one of his brothers or someone else to take him. Milo announces his arrival often and forgets about it just as easily; it drives Draco crazy and makes Harry smile because Milo’s absent-minded way of talking is much like Draco’s, though Harry can admit that Draco is a lot better in actually remembering what he was talking about. Milo lives his own life in the years that follow, follows a path only he can see. He’ll write an influential book on keeping of magical forests and beasts in a few years; he’ll start a relationship with a great-grandson of Scamander and moves to the US and will sometimes call Harry and Draco at four am, babbling away.

 

Louis gets married first and Harry loves his daughter-in-law. She isn’t a Muggle, but Muggle-born; a funny, down-to-earth girl who’s living her life mostly magic-free, who attended university after Hogwarts, studying biology. The wedding is easy, just the ceremony in the morning, and a party afterwards. Olie gets sloshed and Lucius makes sure to get him home safe. Draco asks Harry again and again to dance, twirls him over the floor, rocks with him to the slower songs. “I love you,” he says very quietly, more than once that night and Harry says it back every time.

 

It’s Oliver who worries them most in the coming years. He’s overworking himself, has no time for friends and family. His already short fuse gets shorter and Ron firecalls Harry one day, tells him to come to London. Draco is out doing their shopping and Harry goes by himself, finds his eldest in the middle of a panic attack in his office. Lucius holds him up but Olie keeps begging, keeps saying _I want my Daddies_ and Harry kneels in front of him, tugs him close and holds him until he calms down. Draco finds them at the end of it, but doesn’t disturb them, works around Harry to open Olie’s collar, to wipe down his neck and face, to get him out of his suit jacket. “You’re alright,” he says to Olie when Olie whimpers and moans; says it exactly the same way he usually says it to Harry when he wakes once again from a nightmare.

 

They take Olie with them for a while. “I don’t want to be a solicitor any longer,” Olie says one day and Draco says, “so don’t be.”

 

“You’re not disappointed?”Olie asks and Draco huffs out a laugh, reaches out to rub down his hair.

 

“Life doesn’t always go as planned,” Draco says quietly. “Look at me and your father. We’ve had both – the deepest joy imaginable and the worst horror you could think of. All we want for you is to be happy. We love you because of the person you are, not because of what you do.”

 

“And we love that person very much,” Harry says and Olie’s lip wobbles and Harry wraps him in his arms.

 

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Olie says that Christmas to Louie and Louie blinks at him. “When we found out that you were a squib,” Olie says, “I wasn’t a good big brother to you and I’m sorry.”

 

“I’ve forgiven you ages ago,” Louie says and takes his hand.

 

\--

 

It’s something none of them thought about; that a squib might not live as long as a wizard.

 

It rips them all apart.

 

Louie is 62 when he’s diagnosed with stage 4 terminal cancer and no magic or Muggle medicine in the world can save him.

 

His wife is losing her head over it; his kids cry and cry and cry.

 

On the last days, everyone is at the hospital; Ron and Hermione and Rose and Hugo, friends of Louie from school, Lucius, Milo and Oliver.

 

It’s Louie’s wife and Harry and Draco who are with him for the very last breaths.

 

Their son is looking at Draco, clutches Harry’s hand. His wife has her head on his shoulder.

 

Draco’s eyes are calm while he rubs over Louie’s temples, while he strokes over his scalp. Harry presses kisses against his ice-cold fingers while they are listening to his increasingly labored breathing.

 

“I won’t watch him suffer,” Draco says after 15 minutes and Harry closes his eyes and nods his head. “Thank you,” Louie’s wife whispers and Draco gets out his wand; they are in a Muggle hospital and nobody will know.

 

“We love you,” Draco whispers in Louie’s ear.

 

In the months after, Harry has a hard time telling himself to keep going.

 

Olie is heart-broken; Milo’s too, but he goes back to the US and deals with it himself. Louie’s kids go on, and his wife does too, and Harry is happy for them, but he can’t do the same.

 

It’s probably Lucius who is worst; he’s reaching an age that’s considered old even for wizards and he doesn’t do well with Louie’s death, keeps asking for him. Oliver starts taking care of him full-time; he’s become an artifact collector and works freelance and he simply stops taking on new work.

 

“I want Louis,” Lucius keeps saying to Draco and Harry. Draco gets up and wraps him into his arms, rocks his father to sleep.

 

At night, he cries endlessly, and Harry presses helpless kisses to his hair, his face. “I’ve got you,” he says, and it calms Draco down a little.

 

They visit Louie’s grave all the time. It helps them to keep talking about him, remembering him. Oliver sits with them often and joins in and they laugh and cry over their lost son, their lost brother.

 

It will never stop hurting, but it will become bearable.

 

\--

 

Lucius dies at 141.

 

Harry and Draco are by no means young men anymore; neither are their children. Harry had never really thought of it, what it would mean to grow so old. He’s having grandchildren now, Louie’s and Olie’s kids that come over and demand attention but even they are not young anymore, have children of their own.

 

It’s somehow both – the best and the worst to grow so old.

 

Their bodies are still functioning well enough. Their minds still work. Nothing gets done as quickly as it used to, but they live independently.

 

They still love each other.

 

Harry didn’t think he would ever get over the sisters. It felt like too much; it made him remember everything bad that had happened in his life. For a while, he was so caught up on it, he barely knew what else to do.

 

Draco got him out of it, like he got him out of everything, adjusted their lives without hesitation to make it possible for Harry to go on. Harry likes to think that he mostly returned the favor; that he was there for Draco in the moments when Draco needed him, but it’s been mostly Harry needing Draco.

 

He talks about it with Draco a few hours before the funeral. It just slips out and then Harry is mortified to bring it up now when Draco is hurting and then Draco shakes his head at him, looks at him as if Harry is still the best thing in his world.

 

“You were always there for me,” he says, “you’ll always be there for me. Caring for you is not a duty; it’s my right. If you need a little more care, then I’m happier to know I could give it to you.”

 

“You like me needy, don’t you?” Harry says, and Draco laughs, leans in and kisses him.

 

“I like you being you,” he says.

 

That night, Harry will slowly take him apart. They’ll take their time; afterwards they will stand out on their sundeck and look up at the stars.

 

“I hope he finds Scorpius,” Harry will say, and Draco will squeeze his hand. “And Louie,” he adds quietly. Harry smiles through the tears springing to his eyes.

 

They have another good twenty years before them and they’ll walk them, steadily, hand in hand.  


End file.
